Wheel in the Sky
by Bastille Kain
Summary: People from various genres are plopped down in the Wheel of Time Universe and forced to make their way as best they can.  All begins at the same time that Rand encounters the stranger on the road the one whose cloak doesn’t move.
1. Prologue: Land of Confusion Part One

Author: Bastille Kain

Title: Wheel In The Sky

Disclaimer: Standard—The Characters are all borrowed and belong to their various creators. I own nothing, least of myself so please no suing. The people I already owe money to won't be happy if they find out somebody else is trying to cut in on their share of the pie.

Spoilers: Possibly. But I ain't got a clue as to what might be spoiled, so…

Summary: People and or humanoids, from various genres—BTVS/Marvel/Highlander/Dark Angel/Stephen King novels/Forgotten Realms/Roswell/and others—are plopped down in the Wheel of Time Universe and forced to make their way as best they can. All begins at the same time that Rand encounters the stranger on the road; the one whose cloak doesn't move and vanishes without a trace.

Pairings: Standard fare—Rand/Min/Elayne/Aviendha – Buffy/Spike – Max/Liz – Amanda/whoever happens to catch her fancy – the same for Logan and Faith. A surprise or two just to keep things interesting.

Rating: PG-13??? Maybe a little more. Will be violence and strong language and possible nudity somewhere along the way.

Feedback: Is always appreciated. Just try to keep it constructive.

Email: Kain6639yahoo com

Archive: If you like it that much, sure. Just be sure to let me know where it's going, and give me the credit, good or bad, for my work.

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Character List

(Will not appear in order listed here)

Drizzt Do'Urden – Alec X5-494: Pair encounters Loial on the road to Caemlyn and travel with him to the great city. Take a room at the Queen's Blessing.

Katherine "Kitty" Anne Pryde – Dawn Marie Summers – Charlene "Charlie" McGee – Kyle Valenti – Richie Ryan: The quintet survive in the Aiel Waste for some time, thanks in part to advance technology Kitty has in her possession as well as Kyle's ability to create and alter the molecular structure of objects. Encounter, stumble upon, capture a group of Aiel Maidens of the Spear after several weeks on their own and are brought to Cold Rocks Hold.

Michael Wiseman – Lisa Wiseman – Heather Wiseman – Ava: The quartet appears in the Royal Palace of Caemlyn, in the throne room where Queen Morgase is holding court, in a brilliant flash. Chaos ensues, all out fighting as Michael begins taking out all comers and Ava manages to deflect or turn aside most of Elaida's attacks. Elaida knocked unconscious and Heather is wounded, fatally so.

Elizabeth "Liz" Parker Evans – William the Bloody a.k.a. Spike: The pair awake at least a days travel from the city of Falme. Liz is able to create blood for Spike so he won't have to kill anybody and money so they will be able to pay for things. Spike's presence, the essence of the demon within him, appears to draw Myrddraal like flies to a midden heap. They are both afraid of his evil and envious of it. Spike kills them out of hand, their blood makes him violently ill, but he likes their swords and is glad they keep showing up because the black blades lose their effectiveness after a week or so. Later he finds Trolloc blood to be better then human, plus it comes in different flavors.

Buffy Anne Summers – Methos – Carietta "Carrie" White – Michael Guerin – Joshua: The quintet appear at the height of raging battle between Trollocs and Shienaran soldiers. In various ways the group helps the human soldiers defeat the Trollocs. The soldiers seem more afraid of Michael then they had of the Trollocs, especially when he attempts to heal Uno. He still manages it, but has to keep a shield between him and the others, Carrie helps keep them at bay. Uno doesn't appear very grateful for not dieing as he has the group put under guard until somebody smarter then him can figure out what is going on.

Duncan Macleod – Isabel Amanda Evans Ramirez – Amy Thomas: The trio arrives in the Warders' training yard, Duncan still receiving the dregs of his latest Quickening, absorbing a barrage of lightening out of the sky. He is immediately attacked by group of young pupils using wooden practice swords as other students and Warders retrieve their swords. Duncan easily defeats students using non lethal force before gathering up his sword to take on the more series challengers only to have Isabel seal them within a barrier of transparent green energy. Demands a meeting with whoever is in charge, Aes Sedai arrogance and attitude instantly puts Duncan's back up and he meets their twisting truths and promises with blunt rudeness.

James Howlett a.k.a. Logan a.k.a. Wolverine – Amanda Darrieux: The pair are discovered on the al'thor farm when Rand and his father Tam return home from their trip into Emond's Field the night before Bel Tine. They help with some of the chores and about to enjoy a meal when the Trollocs attack. Logan takes the fight to the Trollocs and disappears for some time. Amanda helps Rand out a side window, but stays behind to cover his escape. Upon returning to the house Rand discovers Amanda dead, the side of her skull bashed in. She revives moments later, her wounds healing leaving unblemished skin. Amanda helps Rand carry his sick father to town.

Max Evans – Max Guevara X5-452 – Alexa Bond: The trio is taken in by a band of Tuatha'an. Max and Max are both able to offer them a startling amount of music, most of it is modern rock from the nineteen-fifties through twenty-twenty. They are amazed by Max's power and only a little hesitant to be around him as it seems very similar to channeling but Max explains about them being from another world. Max doesn't think it's the right thing to do, but when the people seem accepting of his story she has no choice but to glower like an insolent child. When they discover Alexa is suffering from a terminal illness, advanced AIDS, Max explains that he might be able to heal her as he's done with cancer patients and fatal gunshot wounds, but everybody that he has healed and tracked down have all developed powers. Alexa agrees to be healed. Max enjoys his time with the Tuatha'an, the peacefulness they exude is like what he's spent his entire life searching for. When Max asks if he's planning on staying with he shakes his head, the way of the leaf is not for him, he wouldn't be able to keep himself from acting if trouble started, after all in a previous life he had been king. Besides Liz and Isabel and Michael and others are out there, he can feel them spread out over the vast distance. Max on the other hand fumes at the sedate pace and often takes to scouting ahead of the caravan, she also spends a great deal of time practicing her Katas and honing her fighting skills when the wagons are camp for the night. Can't help the feeling that she's being watching but when she tries to find them there's never anyone about. At night her dreams are becoming incredibly vivid and there are always wolves about watching her but never seen.

Faith Lehane Wilkins: Her arrival is partially witnessed by Min, who watches from an attic storeroom as Faith stumbles out of an alley. For a moment, possibly because of second sight Min is able to see the horrific shape of the slayer demon as it hunches over Faith, worse the demon essence is able to see her and appears on the verge of consuming her when it snaps back, vanishing within Faith who seems to be gaining her bearings. She looks up and spots Min staring at her through a window. She smiles and goes to cross the street ignoring a number of Whitecloaks that accuse her of being a darkfriend. Faith doesn't deny the accusation instead telling them she's been a lot of things in her life and if they don't want to get the asses handed to them they best move on before they annoy her more then she already is. They charge her with some crime try to arrest her and she enjoys disabusing them of that notion. With a throng of onlookers gawking at her she relieves them of their coin, their weapons, and anything else she thinks might be of value. Min runs fearing for her life, several blocks away she stops sure that she's gotten away, only to discover Faith has been following her the entire time, using the rooftops to stay out of sight.

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Prologue: Land of Confusion—Part one

The air was bone crushingly cold. In the not too far distance, pops like fireworks exploding, could be heard as frozen sap burst from thick bole trees. It was faint, barely heard over the clamor of steel striking steel, of steel biting into flesh.

Despite the cold it was hot as large, coarse haired bodies with twisted faces, more animal then human; hooked beaks, boar or goat snout or wolf muzzle replacing mouth and nose; tufted ears and feathers, ram or goat horns and eyes as black as polished darkness. Each was almost twice as large as any human, able to look the men atop their armored horses in the eye, black armor with spikes at shoulder and elbow, wielding cruelly hooked axes and long spears or overlarge scythe like swords. Steam rose from thousands of throats, harsh and guttural shouts as they tried to swarm over the much smaller human army before them.

The clang of steel crashing against steel—waves thundering into cliffs—filled the morning, overpowered the hoarse shouts of men and Trolloc alike. Frozen ground turned to blood soaked mud, churned by boot and hoof, making the ground hard to purchase; harder to hold.

Uno shouted orders; shoring up the line, holding it against the frenzied swarm of the Trolloc horde pressed against it. The line needed to hold, there was nothing between them and the small village of Kern, with reinforcements still leagues away. They had to hold. There was no other choice. They had been too late to stop the Trollocs from sweeping up a handful of outlying farms, but Kern still stood and if Uno had any say in the matter it would be standing an hour from now.

A ram horned Trolloc towered over Uno for a brief moment before it dropped away carved nearly in half by the two handed sword only to be replaced by one with a wolf's snout and tufted ears.

Lightening flashed out of the dark, overcast sky. It was the most unnatural lightening any had ever seen, a sickly green that would turn any man's gut sour. It struck just beyond the Trolloc lines, striking without any sound. A second followed the first, and was followed by a third and a fourth and a fifth; each coming faster then the one before it, all faster then an eye could blink. When each bolt vanished a person was left behind and Uno cursed coarsely wondering what new sort of shadowspawn had been deposited on their doorstep.

Only it didn't make much sense, not that Uno could see; of the five two were women, the smaller a blonde hair piece of porcelain so fragile looking Uno was sure a strong enough breeze would be able to shatter her into a thousand pieces, but she was on her feet. She looked young to his eye, younger then his sister's daughter… Seventeen at most, but her expression bore an uncanny resemblance to piqued irritation bordering on anger.

The other girl; a tall, thin reed whose pale red locks fell to the small of her back, was huddled on the ground as if fear gripped her, which Uno was sure it had. He wished to the creator that there was some way to help her, only there was none. Too many Trollocs, not to mention half a dozen Fades, stood between the Shienaran line and her.

Both women wore man styled clothes; the blonde wore a light brown shirt, the color of desert rock, with laces running up the back. It left her stomach bare and exposed a good portion of her bosom for anyone that should happen to look her way and bared her shoulders and arms. Her trousers were light crimson with dark flowers running up the seam that barely climbed above her hips and ended mid-calf. Something like white slippers covered her feet. Her skin was sun dark, as if she spent a good deal of time out of doors. She looked as if she were dressed for summer somewhere far to the south. As if anywhere was going to see summer this year. The taller girl's clothes while no more familiar at least covered her in a proper fashion; her shoes looked sturdier, but were laced up the front with some type of buckleless strap, her trousers were deep blue and looked like woven canvass and appeared quite baggy on her, but it was hard to tell with her huddled on the ground. Three shirts covered her upper body; the outer shirt looked more like red knitted wool and covered the others. A large bag like he had never seen before lay next to her.

Of the men two lay on the ground, light and dark hair, both looked like something mothers would shield their daughters from ever seeing. Men who spent twenty hours on a fast march wearing full armor after three days inside a wine bottle did not look so bad as they.

The black haired man was dressed all in black and grays; black boots, black pants, a black coat—made from leather and polished till it gleamed under the weak sun—that ended mid thigh. The coat covered a heavy knit sweater made from some coarse looking material that was folded double under his jaw. He was pushing himself to a knee as he dragged a heavy double edged sword from somewhere under his coat.

The youth, pushing himself to hands and knees as well, his dirty blonde hair was long and unkempt, his light blue eyes had a frenzied look to them, wore a white button down shirt to thin for the weather and with sleeves that ended well above the elbow. A pair of black stripes, one thin one thick climbed the right side of the shirt and disappeared down the back. His trousers were nearly identical to the red haired girl's, as were his shoes, only without the strap.

The third man, if such a creature can truly be called a man, wore a light green hooded shirt that closed up the front by means of interlocking pieces of metal. His trousers were a mesh of dark and light green patches faded with age. The legs were shoved into the tops of black calf high boots that laced up the front.

Uno thought if there could be an abomination between Trolloc and Fade, then this creature just might be it. A head and half shorter then a Trolloc and not as broad through the shoulders, it was still considerably larger then a Fade. Where a Fade had smooth skin instead of eyes this creatures eyes were almost an amber color as they caught the light, and where a Fades hair was uniformly black, like its cloak, his hair was a light brown, a bit darker for its greasy nature, and hung loosely past his shoulder. His face though, marked him as inhuman, or only partially human. While there was a human cast to his face it was dominated by sharp canine features. And when the creature lifted his head and howled a mournful wail it had an eerie similarity of a lone wolf separated from its pack.

A Trolloc appeared in front of Uno and was hacked under by great two handed chops of his massive sword. He couldn't spare much concern for the newcomers but he gave them what he could. What he saw chilled his blood.

The Trollocs may not know what to make of a dog faced man but they certainly knew what to do with a normal one. One with an eagle's beak and feathers behind its tufted ears lifted its wickedly curved, scythe like sword above its head, meaning to split the dark haired man in twain, only Dog-man was there. He grabbed the trolloc by its wrist and bent the larger creature's arm back painfully; the sword fell from its hand. Dog-man's left hand punched up into the soft flesh of the Trolloc's lower jaw and then ripped, tossing away the hunk of bloody flesh. He turned tossing the Trolloc away as if it weighed no more then a small puppy.

A high pitch wail rose over the din of battle and out of the corner of his one good eye Uno saw three Trollocs stop as if frozen, curved swords and spiked axes poised to strike. Even from the distance Uno could see their bodies quiver as if they were trying to move forward, trying to reach the girl with the pale red tresses kneeling on the ground. She was frightened, more then frightened, with light eyes wide as saucers and bulging from her head. The girl looked as if she just woke from a nightmare only to discover the waking world was far more horrifying then the dreaming one.

One trolloc; with ram's horns, tufted ears, and a wolf like muzzle, but dark eyes that were far too human to be sitting in that twisted face lifted into the air. Its limbs began twisting in ways limbs should never move, loud pops, like muffled firecrackers, punctuated the din. The trolloc screamed for a moment, a bestial roar that cut off abruptly as its body bent backward; its upper and lower halves twisting in opposite directions. It fell to the ground limp and unmoving.

A boulder, twice the size of a large wagon, half buried in the earth ripped itself free of the ground shackling it. The giant rock flew through the air faster then a thoroughbred. The other two trollocs flew backward, away from the girl and directly into the path of the boulder, colliding with bone crushing force, and stayed there; held by some invisible hand as the boulder careened into the bole of a thick tree and bounced to the ground, rolling to a slow stop. Whatever gave it life, gone now.

The tiny blonde girl stood completely still as a massive trolloc bore down on her. The creature easily doubled her height as she couldn't even look the creature square in the navel. One of its hands was big enough to fit all the around her waist and snap her in two. Occupying the trollocs hand now was the thick haft of a cruelly hooked axe. The weapon looked a toy in its massive hands. The trolloc swung and still she stood there and stood there.

At what seemed the last possible moment she stepped forward, moving well inside the trolloc's guard. Her hands snapped up grabbing the haft and it stopped. There wasn't the slightest strain on her part. Then she ripped the axe from its hand as if he was nothing more then a small child with a dangerous toy… and then she spun; moving with the grace of dancer and the speed of a whirlwind as she twirled around the trolloc, the flat of the axe smashing into the creature's backside. There was a sickening bone crushing, organ bursting sort of sound as the trolloc lifted off from the ground, limbs thrown out, back arched as it arced high into the sky.

Uno forgot himself, forgot where he was as he followed the trolloc's flight as it sailed over their lines and landed some fifty feet beyond the last man. It twitched weakly and then was still.

The girl looked surprised and vaguely disappointed at the same time. After a beat she shrugged and as if she weren't in the midst of a heated battled, with trollocs all around she studied the massive axe in her tiny hands, gave it a couple of experimental swings and then beamed as if she just received a wardrobe stuffed full of fine dresses and fancy slippers and whatever other things girls dreamed of.

Suddenly the axe blurred in her hands, whistling as it cut the air. Her light eyes gleamed and a dark smile twisted her lips. She threw herself among the scattered trollocs and they died without ever realizing the danger. When they did realize, it didn't matter. They had no defense against her.

Fire suddenly raged in Uno's guts and the man cursed at the thick haft of wood sticking out of his stomach. He snarled and cleaved the wrist thick shaft preventing the trolloc from ripping the spear and most of his intestines back out.

"Hold the line you goat kissing milksops!" Uno shouted when one reached for him. He was unsure if he was shouting at his men or himself for being such a witless fool. He deserved to have his guts carved out. "Burn you, you gutless swinard," he raged holding his place, laying about him with his great sword wielding it with a single hand. "Anybody that doesn't hold… I'll peel their hide. You light cursed coward. Then I'll stop being pleasant. Burn your bones to ash if I don't."

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"Back to your kennel."

Joshua glanced at the tiny girl with the dirty blonde hair. He didn't think anybody was suppose to hear her. The chimera like creature she hit flew over the humans, arced high into the air before crashing back to the ground over a hundred feet away. She shrugged, looked at him, studied him seriously for a moment before she blinked, smiled brightly and said, "Present company excluded," before she turned her attention to the weapon her hands had been caressing.

Joshua smiled and chuckled softly, happily, a strange sort of contentment settling over him. The girl hadn't been afraid of him, had even shared a joke with him apologizing for her other joke, not that he minded. For a moment he felt as if he belonged, as if the girl accepted him the same as Max and Alec and all the other children father made. Same as Cindy and Logan.

Only for a moment.

The fetid stench of the creatures filled his nostrils, pulled him back to where he was. They smelt wrong… like somebody who knew what baking was but didn't realize how to mix the ingredients together. Much like his own attempts to bake Max a birthday cake. Each attempt had come out worse then the own before, until he finally asked Alec for his help. Alec had much amusement at his expense that day, but it was worth it because Max got her cake and for a little while his family had been happy.

Whoever made these creatures didn't care that they came out not quite right.

Father had learnt, he had worked hard to make sure Max and the others would fit in, that normal people would think they were normal to.

He reached down and grabbed the young man with dark hair by the upper arm and hauled him to his feet. "Not a good time to rest," he joked with a soft, hesitant chuckle. The man smelled of lightening and something else, something that made him think of dusty leather books and candles and oil lamps. It was an old smell that clung to him, like blood. For the moment they enjoyed a small space of isolation. Joshua didn't think it would last.

Methos looked up at the man who brought him to his feet, his voice was thick and had an odd sort of lisp. What he saw was nothing he expected. It had to be some odd sort of genetic defect… _Engineered_! His brain screamed at him. In his entire life, which spanned more then five thousand years he had seen very few real cases of dog-men or pig-boys or any other such thing. As enjoyable of a read as The Island of Dr. Moreau was, with several feature films and a television series or two loosely based on the H. G. Wells' vision, it was something else again to turn science fiction into science fact.

Then again, with how quick science was advancing, the chasms it had leapt in recent years, who could truly imagine what the future was going to hold.

He glanced around, a quick twist of his head that took in the carnage around him, the twisted animals that walked like men. "Joshua," the creature next to him said.

"Methos," he replied too stunned to realize the words coming out of his mouth. This was very much like a scene ripped from the movies. Something the Sci-Fi channel would no doubt have a heavy hand in making.

"Stay alive Methos," Joshua encouraged him, then was gone.

Methos watched as he bound toward the nearest beast man. There was no other way to describe his running gait. The creature sported a crest of feathers atop its ram horned head with almost human looking ears behind a thick snout. Joshua kicked out the creature's leg, wrapped his arms around its head and jerked, snapping the creature's neck. He grabbed the heavy blade, a too large scimitar and swung the sword. It cleaved armor as easily as it did the flesh underneath, the sword sliced halfway through the creature. Joshua threw out a heavy side kick that hit solidly, hurling a beast-man several feet away where it crashed into several of its beast brothers—_whatever they're called_—as Joshua jerked the sword free and hack at another animal man. The blade missed but it caused the creature to shift its guard, leaving its throat open for Joshua's clawed fingers to rip out.

Movement to his side pulled Methos' attention away from the show Joshua was putting on. He wished he had ignored it, only that would have meant taking that black blade in his back. For the most part this creature looked exactly like a tall man, if the hood of his dead black cloak had been pulled up the illusion would have been completed. With it thrown back, its flesh was so white he should have been in the grave a week or more. Where its eyes should have been was nothing but smooth flesh, but Methos could feel the thing's stare. Its hatred for humanity in general, him in particular, was palpable. It would take great pleasure stripping the flesh from his bones. Fear like he has never felt before burned in his bones, oozed in his blood. Leeches burrowing into his brain would have been more pleasant. The man, the creature that came forward did so with a silky smoothness of a snake. Black armor of overlapping plates only enhanced the illusions. Its sword flickered back and forth like a serpents tongue.

With more effort then he can ever remember it taking Methos raised his blade and knew it would not matter. He knew he was going to die, here; maybe his last death and could only feel grateful this things gaze would be elsewhere. The thing smiled at his raised sword, a contemptuous grin, as if it knew exactly what Methos was thinking.

A spark of anger ignited in Methos' gut, a tiny amber if that; the fear didn't so much lessen but sort of receded. Like a tide flowing back into the ocean. It clicked for him, like the first time somebody ran him through. Strong emotion could keep the fear at bay, a bonfire that managed to hold the night at back. Methos fed it anger, his rage for letting this thing frighten him at all… anger and rage that this thing dared to come at him in the first place. He fanned the flames with his pride; he was Methos, he was Death… He had slaughtered and pillaged and raped his way across three continents; warlords, kings, emperors, and pharaohs paid homage to him and his brothers; the most beautiful women had been his to chose from along with the finest wines and the best horses. He had been a god and this gnat thought to frighten him with its eyeless stare.

Its advance faltered under Methos' twisted grin. The ancient Immortal could practically read the things hesitation. It had expected an easy kill, a victim quivering in fear, not a man whose whispered name had long ago made the mightiest nations of the world tremble.

Methos flowed forward, his blade an extension of his will as it reached for the eyeless almost man. It was all the black blade could do to stay between Methos' hungry steel, to keep his thirsting blade from pale flesh. Methos could tell his style confused the creature, like any Immortal with a couple hundred years under their belt his style was eclectic. It had been molded seamlessly over the course of his life; it was from every land but of none. Contained within it was the story of Methos, from exalted deeds to perdition and the flames that sear his soul to this very day.

Back the creature moved back and back again. Always back, until Methos' blade bite through flesh and bone. Black blade, fingers still clutching the hilt, flew through the air. Hand and sword were quickly followed by the things head.

Methos stepped back quickly as the thing, without its head, continued to flail wildly. Out of the corner of his eyes he spotted a few of the beast men drop to the ground; clutching their skulls, heel and hoof scraping groves in the frozen ground.

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Michael groaned softly as he pushed himself up to a knee. He wanted to scream at the chaos that greeted him… Wanted to wake up on the instant… _If this is Isabel's idea of a joke_ …only he couldn't. It was with a sublime sort of horror that he realized there was nothing to wake up from.

He wasn't asleep.

He wished he was. At least then he wouldn't be seeing what was going on around him; animals that walked like men, animals that wielded cruel and wicked looking weapons that left gaping holes where they tore out flesh.

Or the little blonde girl who twirled a monstrous axe with a haft that was twice as round as both her hands and was a head taller then her as if it were a plastic toy. Once he had seen her cut a swath into the frozen ground, casting chunks of dirt and rock into the air, spin—wielding the axe much like a baseball bat—pelting any number of creatures with bits of rock and frozen earth hard enough to knock a few of the animal-men off their feet. Then she just stood there, staring at them, looking as innocent as a newborn babe, like chocolate wouldn't melt in her mouth. With her Capri pants and slip on safari sneakers with little pink hearts and her halter top of frilly lace; hair dyed the exactly right shade of blonde and perfectly bronzed skin she looked like California bubble headed prom princess. At least that was image she seemed intent on pulling off.

It was worst then watching bad anima with Max and Kyle, and there was nothing worst then watching bad anima with people who didn't understand or appreciate the art. This wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't been part of the cast.

Pain seared through his back, lanced through his gut as a barbed shaft, thick as his thumb, punched through his body. He fell forward clutching at the shaft. Acid burned in his gut making him want to empty his stomach. Each breath sent fresh waves of pain shooting outward from his stomach. He wanted nothing more then the fire burning in him to sweep him away. Let the darkness claim him once and for all.

He twisted the bloody shaft and jerked up screaming. Something inside of him, some voice he could only credit at being Rath, was screaming at him. To get up, get on his feet, that there was no way he was going to die on this back end of forever, no account planet, to a bunch of genetically backwards engineered freaks. It was the first time that Michael had ever felt Rath's presence, from what he could sense the man had been a warrior through and through.

Panting, Michael erected a dome of transparent green energy as he pushed himself upright once more, turning to see what sort of coward struck at his enemy from behind. A dozen hairy bodied animal-men, each nearly twice as large as a big man, were advancing on him. They would make a professional wrestler seem almost normal sized. Their faces were an assortment of snouts and muzzles and beaks with horns—goat and ram—or crested feather and tufted ears.

They weren't what drew Michael's gaze. That fell on the normal looking man. Normal looking and man were both relative terms. His flesh was so pale, so white as to appear bloodless. Where his eyes should have been was smooth flesh. Its armor was overlapping plates a dull, grayish black and its sword blade was as black as the deepest night.

Something oozed along his bones, maggots crawling over rotting flesh. It struck a cord deep inside him… Inside his human half, a fear boiling in his blood. The Antaran part of him snarled at the sensation, casting it aside.

The shaft of the arrow glowed as Michael altered its density and removed it from his side. He pressed his right hand against the wound in his side and the area glowed again, the wound closing at his touch. He didn't have much skill at healing, not even as much as Kyle, nowhere close Max—the man could raise the dead, obliterate terminal illness—but this was well within his range.

He rose to his feet, the arrow hovering in front of his outstretched hand, its density altering once more as it become harder then titanium. It shattered into a thousand, thousand little arrows, each one barely the size of a needle. With a single thought they rocketed outward, exploded really. In a single instant each needle size arrow found the flesh of an animal man, sliding through armor as easily as they did muscle and bone, taking them through throat, heart, eye… Anywhere and everywhere. Out of them all only the eyeless man remained, completely unscathed.

Michael's smile twisted his face into a sneer, green energy burst from the shield, slammed into the man like thing, seemed to burrow into its chest, through the plate armor without so much as a smear. The creature screamed, clawed at its own chest, ripping a single plate from his armor before he exploded.

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Buffy leaned against the haft of the axe she had liberated early in the fight; the blade was sunk halfway through the bole of a leather barked tree. Her arms were folded across her chest as she watched impassively while the Shienaran soldiers policed the area. She had never cared much for soldiers and this hard faced group did little to improve their standing in her eyes. They were quick to bandage their wounded. The ones that could were making a consorted effort to avoid Michael, a heavy brown cloak draped over his shoulders.

Oddly enough it was one of the Shienarans that had given Michael the cloak. They had given one to Carrie; it was deep green and thick. Buffy wished she had one as well, not because she was cold because she wasn't, not really. She was aware of the cold just like she was aware of the heat but since being called neither bothered her. It was simply one more thing that made her a freak, but this one was one she could conceal; she simply dressed appropriately for the weather.

They had offered, had practically thrown an entire wardrobe at her, but knowing everything they were offering had, until this very morning, belonged to people that were now dead, killed any desire she had to burrow into their clothes just so she wouldn't stand out so much. Besides, knowing how much her presence flustered them filled her with a childish glee and almost made her want to flaunt herself even more. If only she had a string bikini with her, she could probably send the entire nation into epileptic fit. A secret little smile twisted her lips at the image. _The women would probably try to burn me at the stake as some kind of succubus_. _They really need to dig themselves out of the stone age_.

Most of the uninjured were scouring the nearby farms, looking for any survivors from the Trolloc raid. So far they had found several, mostly young children who had been hidden in secret niches. They were a dirty and miserable looking bunch, most weeping in the way children do when they know they've lost everything, when they know their mom and dad aren't coming back for them. A few, the older ones, seemed more stoic. They didn't cry, but their dark eyes glittered with unshed tears and burned with a dark light. She had seen that look as well, on people who felt they only had one thing left to live for. Vengeance was all that mattered to them, it became their life and they would do anything to achieve it; deal with the devil himself, bargain away their souls, become what they hated… Watch the world burn.

Buffy hardened herself; she couldn't let herself be drawn into their struggle. Their problems, whatever they were, were theirs and didn't concern her. The only thing that mattered to her right now was finding a way back home. Considering she didn't know where here was, or how she had gotten here, much less who her traveling companions on interdimensional rift airlines were, made the process just a little more burdensome for her. She didn't know if they all came from the same reality as her or if they had been plucked up randomly from all over the multiverse.

What she wouldn't give to have Giles and Willow here to do the research and Xander with his lame jokes and donuts, and Dawn trying to horn in, like she had ever right to be there, and Tara with her reassuring presence, and Anya constantly informing them of her many orgasm and just how enjoyable they are. Even Spike smelling like cheap whiskey and stale tobacco, with his rapier like tongue just waiting for an opportunity to draw blood.

Her eyes kept sliding back to a young girl, she couldn't be more then seven or eight, she was weeping and sniffling, but was fighting so hard not to. It pulled at her. She looked nothing like Dawn, but it was the same way Dawn had been when mom and dad told her they were separating and getting a divorce. She had asked to be excused but hadn't bothered waiting for permission before leaving the kitchen table. She had left in that far too quite way she has sometimes, when she didn't think anybody was paying attention to her and went to her room.

Buffy had wanted to cry herself that day, but her tears had all been used up weeks early; used up for everybody she hadn't been able to save; Merrick, the students of Hemery. She had heard Dawn crying later that night, and when she knocked on Dawn's door and after nearly a minute of waiting had simply pushed the door open. Dawn's eyes had been red and her cheeks tear streak but she wasn't crying anymore. They had talked for a while that night, one of the few times they had actually talked, and when she had pulled Dawn in for hug they had both been crying freely.

She tore her eyes off the girl and went back to studying the soldiers. A bunch had the unfortunate task of hauling the dead Trollocs out of the area. They were bringing the creatures to a series of large pyres they had erected a few hundred yards away. Joshua was helping them, dragging two corpses at a time across the frozen ground. He would toss the bodies into one of the four roaring fires from twenty feet away. Joshua said they smelt bad enough without burning and she could only agree with him. Her nose twitched every time the wind shifted and blew in her direction.

Another group of soldiers were busy digging large holes in the frozen ground. Buffy was rather impressed with the progress they had made with how hard the ground was. Several others were stripping the dead soldiers of their armor, clothes, and other possessions. A small number of farmers, just as dead and just as naked, lay in that group. When Buffy asked one of the soldiers, Masema she thought his name was, where the rest of the people were he had told her, in explicit detail, what Trollocs did with humans. If he had been expecting her to be all delicate and girl like, emptying her stomach for his amusement, he had been disappointed. As a slayer she dealt with things that made Trollocs seem like fluffy bunnies.

With a guilty wince, she glanced upward and whispered, "Sorry Anya." It wasn't the sky of her earth, or her sun, or her anything else of her world, but she didn't think whoever was up there would mind.

Bringing her attention back to the situation at hand, she sighed heavily as another soldier backed away from Michael; their polite, but rather firm refusal to even come within arm's length of the man was beginning to grate on her. A knife slicing through skin and gorging bone would feel almost as pleasant. If not for him killing off nearly a fifth of the Trolloc forces in one fell swoop these men might still be fighting and dying. Yet you would think the man carried some sort of plague with the way these people avoided him. She caught words like channeling and madness whenever Michael passed too near for their comfort. She figured she'd stick near his side on the ever increasing chance that if trouble did break out, it would be because of Michael.

Methos, the swordsman that had skill coming out his yin yang, was hovering close by Carrie. Buffy knew she could take the man in a fight, maybe… But if it came down to a simply contest of skill, she had the feeling he could carve her clothes off without ever touching the flesh beneath them. He seemed to have taken up the position of Carrie's personal body guard, though she couldn't imagine a person who needed one less… The girl tossed five ton boulders around with her mind like they were Tonka toys, but was also the poster child for shy and timid, even more so then Willow had been. She seemed to huddle inside herself far too much. Most of the Shienarans treated her with a profound sort of respect, as if they were in awe of her, which was understandable considering the things she could do with her mind, but it was the exact opposite of how they treated Michael. She was going to have to figure a way to break the girl out of her shell; Michael might be able to help.

Several of the soldiers had used the term Aes Sedai when talking about Carrie and after the battle had expected her to be able to heal their wounded. When she said she couldn't, that she didn't know how to heal people, Michael had volunteered telling them he couldn't heal much but that he'd do what he could. No one had moved but there was this sense of everyone taking a collective step back. There had been a tension in the air and Buffy had prepared herself to kill these men she had just saved at the slightest misstep. She didn't much care for bigots or their ideas of racial purity and ethnic cleansings. Without looking around she had sensed Joshua and Carrie tensing as well, but to help or not she didn't know and hopefully would never have to find out.

Surprisingly it had been Uno, the foulest mouthed man she had ever meant, who put a stop to any kind of trouble. He told Michael to do what he could for the worst injured and if any had a problem with it they could see him about it, any that could decide for themselves, could. Of course Uno being Uno, his language was a bit more colorful then her own. She still wondered how the man could make the words milk drinker seem a crime worse then child molester. The man had, but it was a mystery to her how.

The only reason there weren't more people waiting to be tossed into a hole was Michael had healed the most seriously wounded first. While most still couldn't walk, or not walk very far unaided, and some had yet to rouse, they would at least live long enough to reach proper medical attention, if this world even had anything that resembled a hospital, which they probably didn't considering their stone age attitude and archaic weapons.

Suddenly she pushed herself away from her resting position. She left the axe where it was, nobody had said anything to her about it but she doubted if anybody was going to try and take it away from her. Most everybody here had seen what she was capable of doing and if they hadn't, they had heard… stories. Distorted versions of the truth. She had no doubt the tales about her would be twisted into stories even she wouldn't be able to recognize a year from now.

Making a beeline toward where the soldiers had herded the children Buffy marched on them with a purpose. What that purpose was she didn't know, but she took each step with the intention of finding out. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest and found it amusing. Here she was, dumped onto a strange world, possible a completely different reality and she doesn't miss a bit. Spends the early morning hacking Trollocs into Kibbles 'n' Bits like it was an everyday occurrence, yet right now she's nervous, her palms feel slick and, she could admit it too herself, she was scared.

Several of the soldiers must have sensed her approach; they turned, hands going to sword hilts until they saw who it was and they began to relax. Men in general had no idea how to care for children, soldiers in particular, had even less. They must have gotten a good look at her face because they didn't relax much and their hands strayed near their sword hilts once again. Ragan though, his hand fell completely away and he smiled openly at her, but she had been the one to pull a Trolloc off of him after his horse went down so maybe it wasn't so strange. Of course he was also one of the few Shienarans that allowed Michael to heal him.

"May peace favor you," Ragan said giving her a slight bow. "How may I serve?" He asked standing back up.

If nothing else the Shienarans were ultra polite, more polite then anybody Buffy had ever dealt with before. "I need some questions answered," she replied bluntly.

His smiled widened slightly and somehow his eyes managed to stay focused on hers. Buffy decided he had a nice smile, one of a man determined to squeeze all the good he could from a world that often showed nothing but ugliness. "If I can," he said with a shrug. "If I know the answers they are yours."

"What's going to happen to them?" She asked pointing at the small group of children.

He blinked obviously expecting her to ask something else. He glanced back at them, a touch of sadness pulling at his face. "Those that we can find their families will be sent on to them. The others, those that we can't… we'll find homes for them."

Buffy forced herself to ask the next question. She didn't want to, but she needed to know. While she hadn't paid too much attention in history class, she doubted if this specific subject had ever been broached, she was a big fan of the fairy tale, and they always ended with happily ever after. While those stories had certainly glossed over the how and why Cinderella had come to be living with her wicked step mother, the fact remained that she had been when the story started. Buffy didn't believe anybody deserved to have that fate thrust upon them. "And if a home can't be found for them?"

"It's happened a few times," Ragan said. "When it does they become wards of Lord Agelmar. The older ones will be given a place in the servants' quarters and a job. If they are younger they'll be given to an older servant to watch at night. During the day they'll be taught their letters and numbers as well as chores, hauling water or firewood, things of that nature."

"Their children." The low growl in Buffy's voice made Ragan seem to move back without ever moving. She turned away slightly, her hands gnashing the air in frustration. "They should behave like children… go to school, cuddies, boys making armpit farts, fifth grade romances, abandoning homework for their parents to finish so they can hang with their friends at the mall." She wanted to pound on something and wished Spike was at hand. The vampire was always good at enduring her temper, most times giving as well as he got, sometimes he even managed to turn her tantrums aside. "Somebody should be taking care of them—" She fumed rounding on Ragan. This time he did take a step back, a small one before stiffening as if prepared to meet a Trolloc head on. "—not profiting from their labor."

"Peace," he said sharply as he put his hands out, not touching her but bracketing her shoulders, attempting to get her to focus on him. Her blue eyes settled on him, it was like being buried under an avalanche of intensity. He can't remember ever seeing eyes so sharp before. "The work that they're put to isn't hard or useless, and nobody profits from their labor. It also gives them a sense of purpose, of accomplishment, that they're needed and useful."

"You agree with this?"

"Peace," Ragan whispered. Buffy didn't know why he kept using the word but she could sense he meant it; like a vow or a pledge. "Everybody needs to know their place—" He knew the words were wrong the moment her eyes began to glitter.

"Really?" There was a dangerous note with how she said that one word. "What's my place going to be Ragan? Am I gonna have to haul wood in exchange for a bed? Dance for some lord so I might enjoy a meal?"

"Peace Buffy," he said in a breathless rush. Every word that came out of his mouth seemed to push her the wrong way. "You're a warrior Buffy. I've never seen your like before. Once Lord Ingtar and Lord Agelmar hear of your skill a place will be found for you. The Army per—"

Her laugh, something between a giggle and a full blown chuckle, a very un-lady like sound, stopped him mid-word. "I've tried the whole military thing Ragan. We're not compatible. Me and orders, we're completely unmixable."

"I saw you fight. May my sword never know peace Buffy if you aren't a warrior."

Buffy let out a heavy sigh as she rolled her head back. "I am more," she brought her head back down, "then my job… more then my calling. Everybody on my world is. Being born with a silver spoon in your mouth doesn't guarantee its always going to be there. People whose parents and grandparents were sharecroppers and refugees have the same rights as the billionaires and the senators and our legal system holds everybody accountable to the same standards, unless you're crazy. Then it's a room with padded walls and all the drugs you could possibly want. A MacDonald's clerk has as much chance of becoming President as an heiress, and children aren't forced to follow in the footsteps of their parents… Just because your dad was a soldier doesn't mean you have to be one." She ran down, finishing in a barely audible whisper. "I shouldn't've bothered you Ragan. I'll let you get back to what you were doing," she said and turned away. If she was aware of Ragan lifting his hand, unsure if he should reach out for her or not, she gave no indication.

She had to get out of this place; it was going to drive her up a wall inside a week. She wanted her summer line and fall wardrobe. She wanted her malls back and her sketchers and her prada bags. She wanted her no foam lattes and ice coffees. She wanted to DQ something different. To take in a Lakers' game on a Sunday night or to will away a lazy Saturday afternoon at the ballpark watching the Angels play. That might be pushing it a little since she had never done either, but she wanted the option of being able to do them.

What she didn't want was to be here. She didn't need to get swept up in these peoples' problems; she had enough of her own. These people had their own way of doing things, which if her conversation with Ragan was any indication, was the complete opposite of everything she cherished. She'd be lucky if she didn't wind up tossed in prison for preaching sedition against the crown.

She had only taken a few steps when she felt a tiny hand tug at hers. Looking down Buffy was surprised to see the child she had noticed earlier holding her hand. She smiled at her, but the girl didn't seem to notice, her eyes seemed distant, as if she were trying to work things out in her own head. Without any preamble the girl spoke, her voice hoarse from hours of crying. "The soldiers all say you killed Trollocs." Even sounding so rough Buffy had no trouble hearing the doubt in the girl's words.

"A few," she answered. Her voice was flat, as neutral as she could possibly make it. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss her body count with a child.

She nodded, a sharp jerk of her small head. "Good," she said. Buffy winced inside. No child's voice should contain so much happiness about death. "They took my mother and father and my brothers. I was with the pigs when the trollocs came and hid under the pen. I was as quiet as I could be, hoping they wouldn't find me."

Buffy had no idea what to say, how to counsel this little girl. She seldom had to deal with any aftermath. Most of the time the people she was rescuing ran once she drew the vampires' attention; no thank you, no can I give you hand with that, not even an aren't you too young… How was she suppose to congratulate a child when their family was dead, food for the Trollocs. She was going to need years of therapy to deal with the survivor's guilt. "You did the right thing," she finally said. Her voice low, solemn. She pulled the child to her, hugged her to leg and hip. "I'm sure the last thing your—"

"I wish all the trollocs were dead," the girl whispered against Buffy's leg. Without her slayer enhanced hearing she never would have heard the utterance, with it those words were like a clarion call. "I wish you and the soldiers killed all the trollocs."

_And I wish I had been here soon enough for you and your family to be together_, she thought as she stared straight ahead. It was the truest feeling she's had in a long time. "I'm Buffy. Buffy Anne Summers."

"That's a funny name."

"Hey," Buffy said with mock indignation. "I'll have you know my mother gave me that name." Buffy sensed rather then saw a wisp of a smile crack the girl's lips. It might have been nothing more then her imagination, but she'd like to think it was real. "You know, where I'm from, it's considered rude when someone gives their name and the other person doesn't respond in kind. It sort of means you can't be, or don't wanna be friends with that person." She almost felt guilty playing on the girl's guilt this way, but…

"Fliriece Arisien," she said into the prolonged pause.

…only almost.

The pair had almost meandered their way back to where her axe remained lodged in the tree trunk. The soldiers continued to eye her with a wary sort of caution and gave her a wide berth when she passed. Not quite the space that opened up for Michael, but still a respectful enough distance, and one that gave them enough space to draw steel. She suppose they thought that since she was a girl she would never see it. It was only fair she guessed, since she could cover the meager distance in less time then these people suspected. None of them realized that she had been toying with the Trollocs, that while they look all fearsome the only thing she had to worry about them getting through her guard was their odor. The fetid stink almost had her on her knees gagging to start off with.

Not moving overly fast to begin with, Buffy slowed their pace even more as they neared where Michael knelt next to Uno, talking seriously. "…be the flaming son of a goat if you think—"

Michael shrugged as he stood up, a bland sort of expression on his face, like what they were discussing was of absolutely no importance. "It's your choice," he said brushing his hands on his pants.

"Blood and ash if it isn't," Uno snapped keeping the bandage pressed to his side. He pressed down harder and sneered, his already harsh face becoming twisted and cruel. The man made a sack of rocks seem soft. "Don't you flaming forget it, you—"

"I just hope your men are as understanding," Michael said into Uno's rant.

Buffy wanted to slap Michael upside his head. When Uno got going the man could spout half a dozen colorful phrases without slowing. The soldier could give Spike a decent run for his money when it came to turning an epitaph.

Michael waved away his own statement saying, "Of course they are. You're their commander after all. I'm sure you pulled their fat out of the fire all the time, that they'd follow you through thick and thin, to hell and back on your word alone. I'm sure they'll understand that you let a man heal them, especially knowing that you would have made certain it was safe by going first—" He stopped as if suddenly realizing something. The glint in his eyes said he had won.

"Burn your goat skinned hide," Uno growled. The man did not look pleased. "You flaming sure you aren't bloody Aes Sedai?"

"Never heard of them," Michael said kneeling back down. He reached out placing his left hand over the bandage. Closing his eyes a look of deep concentration slipped over his face. For the first time Buffy noticed just how tired Michael was. He appeared to be on the ragged edge. A soft glow suffused the area of the bandage for a second or so. It vanished and Michael slumped, his arms providing most of his support. "Are they the local rock band?" He murmured.

"Bloody," Uno hissed. All the pain was gone from his voice. "That's it?" he asked forgetting himself enough that not a single cuss slipped out of his mouth.

"Did he channel?" Fliriece asked in a stunned voice.

Buffy shook her head no as she said, "I don't think so." _I really need to find out what channeling is_. "I think his power is something different. Like magic."

"Remember," Michael began as he leaned back pulling the bloody cloth away revealing unbroken skin underneath, "take two aspirin in the morning and be sure to schedule a fellow up exam with your regular physician. Just to be on the safe side."

Uno stared at Michael with a completely blank expression that Michael rolled his eyes at as he let out a prolonged breath. The grizzled veteran gave a slight shake of his head, deciding to simply ignore the odd comment. With a terse frown Uno tentatively, to start at least, pushed himself to his feet. "Flaming," he said in wonder, twisting his torso, touching the flesh with a testing finger. "Better then a bloody—" His one good eye twitching toward Carrie; the barest flicker. "Burn my bones if it wasn't. None of that goat kissing flailing about."

"Good," Methos said. The man had been hovering nearby, but most of the people seemed surprised by the sound of his voice. "Now that that's settled, if you wouldn't mind pointing us in the general direction of Tar Valon." Uno's eye tightened slightly. "I've been fairly well informed that's the only place we'll receive the assistance we require."

Buffy could only wonder, she had seen Methos talking to a fair number of Shienarans, getting in good with the locals she had thought at the time, but now it was obvious he's been pumping them for information. The man was subtle about it too, she hadn't suspected anything.

Uno snorted sourly, turned his head and spit on the ground before meeting Methos' gaze with an unflinching dark eye stare of his own. "Much as I'd bleeding love the lot of you to up and flaming vanish faster then a mug of ale set in front of a drunk after a week spent in the Waste, burn me if I wouldn't carry you to Tar Valon myself. The bloody decision isn't mine to make. Lord Ingtar will be here any flaming minute and a detachment will be sent off to escort you to Fal Dara where Lord Agelmar will decide what to do."

"Do you honestly think you can hold me Uno? If I don't want to be held?" Buffy voice was ice, but it was nothing compared to her eyes, a glacier slowly sweeping forward.

"Light burn my bones woman if any man her would care to fight you. Even with the rest of the flaming Borderlands guarding our back. Ingtar isn't so bad as far as being a bloody lord goes and Agelmar always been fair, blood and bloody ashes if he hasn't. I've never heard of him hanging anybody who didn't flaming deserve just that if not ten times over. For all I know Agelmar may send you on to King Easar, he may keep you cooped up at Fal Dara for a time, until he's bloody sure of you in his own mind. Maybe he'll take one flaming look at the spavined lot of you and kick your sorry asses out the front gate."

Buffy felt twice as tense, it had her tied up inside. She tried to keep the anxiety from showing, tried to keep her body relaxed, ready to move. She didn't know how well it worked, not much if Methos inching closer was any indication. Again she was startled that she had to focus her senses on him, he held himself far tighter then any other person she's ever encountered before. It's as if he spent an entire lifetime becoming completely in tune with his body, honing it to the greatest degree possible and then expanded that awareness to the world around him.

Buffy concentrated on Uno. "If that's your idea of alleviating a girl's worry you better take some remedial courses. It'll be a positively artic day in hell before—"

A strong, yet surprisingly soft hand gently touched her shoulder as Methos bent close to her. When he spoke his words were quiet, almost whispered, but they were said in such a way that they seemed to carry further then they normally would have. "Nobody here doubts that you could fight your way out of here. You and Joshua both could probably get clear in a matter of minutes. What happens to everyone else?"

"I don't know the rest of you," Buffy answered barely bothering to lower her voice.

"And if these guys are the evil bastards you believe them to be?" There was a barely contained hint of something dastardly in his voice.

"They're not," Buffy answered tersely even though she couldn't help asking herself, _What if they are_? She reminded herself of how thoroughly they had conducted their search for survivors. It hadn't been overly difficult, most of the time all they had to do was assure the children hiding that the Trollocs were gone. _Those were their own people_, a suspicious seed whispered. _Not strangers who pop out of thin air_. _All Michael has to do is twitch and a dozen men are ready to put a sword through his gut_. _Masema doesn't even need that much reason_.

"So what are you going to do," Methos voice dipped suddenly, a hiss meant for her ears alone. "Kill them all…?" There was a hint of glee at that thought. "…After saving them?"

_Knee caps_. _A few months on crutches would teach them a valuable message_. _Like how not to get in my way_, she thought blandly. A light shudder ran through her as she wondered when she had become so hard, when casual violence had become so blasé to her. _Growing up on a hell-mouth_, _it's a wonder I'm not granite_.

"Besides it'll be easier to escape in transit," Methos assured her. He had the sound of a man with infinite experience in the area.

Buffy didn't like it, but she could admit, to herself anyway, that her opinion was slightly skewered on the subject. She was more of smash it until it broke sort of girl. Most of her friends only used the term cautious in regards to her as relative to Faith. "Fine," she growled with a great deal of pent up frustration.

Reaching behind her, Buffy took Fliriece by the arm and swung her around, catching her in the crook of her arm. They made an odd sight, the child should have been too large for someone of Buffy's diminutive size to pick up so easily or carry for too long, yet Buffy held her without any sign of strain.

With a pointed glare Buffy ignored the man around her as she turned. "You ever hear the story of the three little pigs?" Fliriece shook her head no. "Cinderella?" Another no. "Hansel and Gretel?" No again. "Ali Baba and the forty Thieves? Sleeping Beauty and the Seven Dwarves? The Little Mermaid?" No, no, and no. "The Princess Bride?" One more no.

All she could really hope for is that her friends were busy trying to find her and bring her back. Hopefully Sunnydale wouldn't get to bad before they got her home. Riley would be able to handle some of it and if they had to Spike was there, and he might not charge too much to kill any uppity demon. If it really got bad they could always bring Faith back to town, work out some sort of parole. _Wouldn't Willow and Xander just love that_?

"Buttercup was raised on a small farm in the country of Florin. Her favorite pastimes were riding her horse and tormenting the farm boy that worked there. His name was Westley, but she never called him that. Nothing gave Buttercup as much pleasure as ordering Westley around…"


	2. Prologue: Land of Confusion Part Two

Prologue: Land of Confusion—Part Two

Green lightening flashed out of the high cloudless sky striking the center of the large practice yard, spitting up chunks of frozen ground. Sweaty bare-chested young men with wooden practice swords scattered at the sharp crash; as older, grizzled warriors coiled, swords flashing into sure hands.

Duncan Macleod screamed, a wonder his throat wasn't blistered raw with the volume, the intensity. His single edged, slightly curved ivory hilted sword was held aloft; electricity stabbed down out of the sky, streaked down the steel; cascaded over Duncan's arm, his body, as he arched in the grip of the quickening. His clothes were decorated with several neat slices and stained with blood.

He dropped to his knees as the quickening finally abetted. His Katana slipped from nerveless fingers. He was exhilarated, charged with energy and drained at the same time. It was the same with every quickening; absorbing the life, the essence of another immortal. He could dance all night, run a marathon if he was of a mind, or sleep for a week right where he was.

A scream, a hoarse shout, brought Duncan back to the present. A young man with dark hair to his shoulders raced at him, a bundle of wooden lathes were strapped together and gripped tightly in his white knuckled fist as he crossed the square. He couldn't be much more then fourteen or fifteen, but he looked ready to do some serious damage with the practice sword.

Duncan remained frozen until the last possible second, as if surprise had robbed him of mobility. With the stroke of the wooden sword he threw himself backwards, the bundled lathes wisping just by his chin. His palms touched the ground and his legs snapped upward, right foot smashing into the would be swordsmen's groin. The boy dropped to his knees, eyes glazing as Duncan landed on his feet, liberating the sword from numb fingers and shoved him to the ground hoping he didn't get back up anytime soon. He didn't much like the idea of hurting children. Unless said child happened to be an eight hundred year old Immortal named Kenny, then he would be able to make an exception.

As Connor had taught him Duncan extended his quickening, allowed the essence of each person nearby to fill him, gaining an approximation of where each person was and a vague glimpse of their intentions.

Duncan spun, the sword awhirl in his hands, deftly deflecting two wooden blades with ease, a sharp clack clack clack filling the air as he slid between the pair, creating an instance of confusion among the two youngsters. His sword twined with the youth on his right while his left foot smashed into the other's shin, the boy cried out, losing what focus he had, and Duncan's left fist crashed into the side of his head dropping him to the ground. With his superior strength and height Duncan jabbed the hard tip of the wooden sword into the other boy's chest with sufficient force to take him off his feet. He hit the ground with bone jarring force that Duncan winced at, knowing the boy was going to be bruised from head to toe in the morning.

He slipped to the side just fractionally, allowing another wooden blade to slide harmlessly pass his ribs. His left hand grabbed the wooden lathes as his right elbow flew backwards crashing into another boy's nose, probably breaking the small bone. The boy dropped to the ground in pain as Duncan flipped the second blade around.

The pair blurred in his hands, weaving in intricate pattern as he danced among the students. His blades just seemed to reach out at will and strike unprotected flesh; crack a skull or slam into ribs. In a dozen seconds eight teenagers, little more then boys, lay at Duncan's feet; some unconscious, some groaning in pain.

It wasn't over though. There were more people in the training yard, most of them older with steel in their hands, rushing closer. Sheets of green lightening crashed overhead forcing everyone to crouch low. "I've head enough of this," a woman snarled and Duncan could tell it was meant for him as much as everyone else. An awed whisper of Aes Sedai rippled through the youngsters; even the older men seemed hesitant.

Duncan ignored her for the moment as the sound of men clamoring up the cobblestone walk reached his ears; hundreds of men if his quickening was anything to go by. He dropped the wooden swords and gathered his Katana. He retrieved a long slim bladed dirk from a sheath hidden in the small of his back.

He also managed to get his fist good look at the woman. She was tall, nearly as tall as him, with platinum blonde hair that was pulled back in a sever bun, and her skin was dark from time spent in the sun. She possessed a classic, nearly flawless beauty and displayed the bearing of an angry queen holding court. Her blue eyes sparkled with her displeasure and seemed to dare anybody to challenge her. Her blouse was made from the finest blue silk, black leather pants seemed to have been painted onto her legs and gleamed in the pale morning light and her black boots added another three inches to her already impressive height. A black backpack rested a few feet away from her, right next to a white duster crumpled and discarded on the ground, but she paid neither object any mind. She looked mad enough to chew nails and spit out molten slag.

"Amy," he whispered, stunned by the sight of the second girl, cringing off to the side as she stared at the taller woman. Out of everything he expected to see here, Joe Dawson's daughter, Amy Thomas, was nowhere on the list. She was a lovely girl, average height and thin with light brown eyes; her reddish brown hair hung to the middle of her back in tight ringlets. Her brown canvass coat reached her knees, but hung open revealing a dark blouse with a floral print, and a pleated skirt of dark wool ended at her ankles. If this turned bad and they had to make a run for it she would have to ditch the heels. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of his last thought, as if things could turn anymore bad then they already were. No matter what else happened he would see her safely out of here if it was the last thing he did.

The practice yard wasn't dissimilar from places he's trained in throughout his life and the clothes were similar to the cut and style of a couple hundred years ago. Along with a handful of older students, more wary then their fallen classmates, were half a dozen older men, instructors grizzled with years of hard won experience with bared steel held in sure, steady hands.

Duncan knew their type; they had courted death often enough in their lives and were unafraid of that final embrace. It was as if death sat on their shoulders, trailed in their shadow simply waiting for the proper moment to collect the final toll. They were the most dangerous men here, at least they and everyone else thought so.

An amused smile twisted Duncan's lips as younger men scurried to retrieve swords from where they rested against racks holding wooden practice blades. Troops of soldiers in polished armor crested the small rise; a white tear drop was emblazoned on the breast of each man, they emptied into the square with a buzz similar to a swarm of angry wasp. An unseen commander shouted orders and they immediately formed into a hollow, three rows of shield bearers with row upon row of pike man just behind with a string of archers at the back, fletching drawn to cheek before they settled. Duncan could almost feel each broad-head shaft; he shifted trying to present them with the worst target possible.

"I am Duncan Macleod, of the clan Macleod," Duncan said keeping everyone he could in sight, his head swiveling this way and that, never resting in one place for a single instant. "I mean no harm to anyone, you and yours least of all." Bared steel gleaming in the pale light finished the statement. I may mean no harm, but any who attack will be harmed.

"I said enough!" The girl hissed. She sounded positively outraged that people weren't doing exactly as she said. There was a loud crunching sound as every bow limb cracked at the same moment, both above and below the handle leaving the archers holding nothing but useless timber. Arrows drooped listlessly as taut strings went limp. A transparent dome of green energy sprang up around them.

Duncan looked back at the two women; Amy's brown eyes were wide, tinged with fear and uncertainty. The blonde though was a thunderhead; her blue eyes seemed to crackle with her emotions. If maintaining the dome took more then a miniscule amount of effort on her part it didn't show. She took a deep breath and seemed to visibly calm herself. As if more then a hundred armed men weren't less then twenty feet away, she picked up her coat—knocking her backpack over and spilling out several books—made a show of brushing nonexistent dirt off her coat before slipping into it.

She caught Duncan's questioning gaze, "I was on my way to class," she answered tersely.

"Bioengineering?" Amy questioned as she picked up one book. "Advance Chemistry? Comparative Physics? String Theory and M-Theory: A Modern Introduction? A little lite reading?"

The blonde smiled, it was the sort of smile that would give young children reason to pause. Amy certainly appeared to be thinking twice about talking to her if the way her complexion lost a little of her color. "A girl has to keep her options opened." Her eyes lost a little of the hardness and she said, "Isabel Evens."

"Duncan Macleod…"

"I heard," she said lightly.

"…and Amy Brennan-Thomas," Duncan finished gesturing towards Joe's daughter. A slight frown creeped into his eyes as he looked around their little sanctuary, four of the students that had originally attacked him lay on the ground inside the dome the rest were on the other side of the green divide. Aside from a few of the wooden blades there was nothing else inside the dome.

Outside the dome the soldiers were a faceless mass. With face guards down hiding what they looked like, they could have been twins, or clones for all he knew. The other ones, the students and teachers, no two looked alike and from the little he's heard only a few had similar accents. Their style of dress was as varied as the swords they carried. More soldiers were filling the square, and archers were beginning to appear in the towers and along the walls.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Isabel said behind him.

"Likewise," Amy replied, but her voice held little enthusiasm.

"Sorry about before—"

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"It's alright," Amy said a little wary of Isabel. She wasn't entirely sure she trusted the woman, maybe if she hadn't seen her do whatever it was she had done… One hand upraised, her eyes suffused with an unearthly glow and sheet lightening crashing overhead. It wasn't the sort of thing she was likely to forget right away or get comfortable with, ever.

Duncan didn't seem to be paying them any attention, but she didn't really know him either. He was a friend of her biological father despite the Watcher Immortal divide. She had meant him a few times, enough to exchange names and polite greetings; most of her knowledge of him came from her extensive study of the Watcher Journals. She knew he was considered to be one of the best swordsman left in the game, but she hadn't realized just how good he was until seeing him put down handful of men in maybe twice as many seconds.

Taking a deep breath, and making a point to ignore the archaically armored soldiers, Amy took advantage of the pause to get her first good look at her surroundings. A girl used to big cities still found her breath stolen by the majesty of the buildings; their shape and color, the texture of the stone. She was used to big and blocky buildings; uniformed in color and while they stretched far higher they somehow seemed stunted these sweeping towers and soaring spires. Every building seemed to be of one pieces, without any kind of joint or seem. It didn't seem possible that buildings could be built in such a way. Bringing her gaze back to the courtyard, to the soldiers filling it, their weapons and clothes and wondered if this was like stepping back in time for Duncan.

"What are you planning with them?"

For a moment Amy thought he was talking to her. She turned, about to ask what he meant when she saw Isabel eyeing the young man that had attacked Duncan with a speculative frown. Holding out her hand several sets of zip-stripes coalesced from thin air. "They might come in handy, especially if we have to negotiate our way out of here." There was a feel of steel in Isabel's words.

"I've got to say I'm not entirely comfortable with the idea of keeping hostages," Duncan said. If Isabel's words had been steel, then Duncan's were the forge fire. "It has a tendency to come back around and bite you in the ass."

"I'm not entirely comfortable with giving up the one thing I'm sure they want," Isabel returned.

There was something about how cool she was, as if she was used to these types of situations. It was the same with Duncan. There was a sense of confidence rolling off both of them. Amy had the feeling that neither of them was going to back down anytime soon, and while on any other day listening to a debate of comparative morality might be the highlight of her day, today wasn't that day. "Uhm, I'm not really sure if I get a vote in any of this, but I have to agree… I'm not real comfortable with keeping hostages…" Not since the Morgan Walker incident; where Walker held her hostage in his attempt to get to anther Immortal, who just happened to be a friend of Joe Dawson, Adam Pierson. "…but I'm also not comfortable with giving up bargaining chips, but what I keep thinking about most is, if those guys out there aren't really bad guys. I mean, if this was some sort of misunderstanding and once everything gets all straightened out, aren't some of those guys likely to hold a grudge. I mean, I don't know, I've never been in this type of situation before."

"None of us have," Duncan said reaching out and giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

His eyes though never left Isabel. "Fine," she breathed out, "but don't blame me if we can't get out of here." She looked to where the young men were lying, near the edge of the barrier. The energy wall shifted, slide around their prone bodies. A murmur ran through the assembled soldiers and a group of students raced forward and gathered up their friends and classmates.

A second ripple spread through the soldiers and Duncan's head turned in the opposite direction. A dozen or so seconds passed before a plump woman with dark ink stains smearing rumpled clothes meandered up the cobblestone path, her nose firmly ensconced in a leather bound book. It was possible the woman would have continued pass without noticing a thing if not for one of the older looking teachers speaking to her. "Pardon for intruding Verin Sedai," he said trying to get the woman's attention. He was a blocky man, with broad shoulders, a beard covered most of his face but left his upper lip bare.

The woman looked up; her big dark eyes blinked several times giving her the appearance of a startled owl. She glanced around, her gray hair bobbing slightly as her head swiveled, then stopped suddenly when her gaze fell upon the dome of transparent green energy. Her face looked too young, and her eyes too bright for hair as grey as hers.

Duncan didn't move, his dark eyes never left the woman's face, but for a moment Amy was sure Duncan stiffened, anger bored into his face and his eyes became like hammer blows falling on the woman. Whatever was going on Duncan didn't like it and Verin didn't seem to notice the change in his demeanor. "What do we have here?" Her voice crackled with barely contained curiosity.

"We do have no idea Verin Sedai. They did appear in a flash of lightening and lightening did streak up and down his sword, like he do be absorbing it. The man do be able to fight, seven men he did put down, two of them do be nearly finish with their training. They do just released the ones who did be trapped inside their dome a moment before you came."

"Yes, yes, yes. Of course," Verin said but it was obvious he was talking about something she had only minimal interest in. "No doubt you've already sent a man off to inform the Amyrlin Seat and the Hall."

"It be the first thing I did do," he assured her in that odd way of speaking he had.

"Good. Good," she said but it was obvious she had put the man out of her mind if he had ever been there. Her attention was all on the green surface and those standing inside. "What do we have here?"

"I am Duncan Macleod," Duncan said before anyone else could speak. "Isabel Evens and Amy Brennan-Thomas," he added indicating her and Isabel. His voice was dignified, a king answering an ambassador. Amy had the feeling Verin had meant something different, but if Duncan cared it didn't show and Amy was quickly learning she knew even less about Duncan Macleod then she had original thought.

Verin smiled pleasantly enough, though it didn't little for Amy's stomach. It was much like seeing an owl smile after it caught itself a fat rabbit. "Perhaps, you'd care to lower this dome so we can discuss the situation in a more civilized manner?"

Duncan gave Verin a tight smile that never touched his eyes. He had as much idea about what Isabel could do as she did; how much effort it had taken to create this dome, what it took out of her maintaining it; it didn't seem like Isabel was putting much effort into it. "Tell you what," Duncan's voice was exceedingly pleasant, "soon as our safety is guaranteed, preferably in writing… I'll consider your request. Can you guarantee our safety?"

There was an amused twinkle in Verin's smile. "My words carry considerable weight."

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Duncan felt the small grin fade; less then thirty seconds in and his stomach soured. He had the feeling this woman could bandy words with just about anyone, and never say a single thing out right. "When I was young, I thought it was possible to change things, that if I tried hard enough I'd be able to make something of a difference in the world. I spent an inconceivable amount of time around people that spoke a great deal like you, seemingly saying exactly what you wanted… They made promises dance a fine jig, like a skilled marionetter twitching the strings. My gut tells me you're at least as skilled as they were, so unless you plan on speaking plainly I suggest you run along and fetch me someone who can."

The vast majority of soldiers, if not all, were looking at him as if he had just spat on the Blessed Virgin Mother. The teachers were all staring at him with a flat eye gaze that said each one meant to teach him exactly what manners were and how to show a proper respect. As far as Duncan was concerned it was another example of their conditioning. Verin though, Verin was watching him as if trying to figure out a puzzle, studying him. He had said young, yet he didn't look much pass twenty-five. His eyes would show his age though.

Making a slight shooing gesture Duncan turned his back on Verin. Once again he felt her essence become more, a string that seemed to attach her to something infinite. Similar to an Immortal's quickening but so different, so much more. It was just like when she first took notice of the dome. He looked back over his shoulder, brown eyes boring into her. She wasn't an Immortal, but there was something about her that defied normal age. No one's face looks so young with hair so gray and eyes so old, not without the medical advances of the twentieth century. Somehow he didn't think these people had access to plastic surgery and regular botox injections.

Again he almost saw something and he felt if he squeezed his eyes just right then maybe he would be able to see what she was doing. There was that feel of something brushing up against him, almost like the air but it lighter. The brief frown that flittered across her lips was a small satisfaction to him. That was twice now that she had tried to do something to him. He had no proof, but he was positive of it.

Isabel was staring at him. "That wasn't bad," she said after a moment. She gave an abbreviated laugh, almost a chuckle as she squatted by her backpack and unzipped one of the small compartments, "Gum?" She asked plucking a pack of Wrigley spearmint gum from the pouch and offering it to Duncan and Amy.

"You didn't just…?" Amy started making vague gestures with her hands and Isabel quirked a rather expressive eyebrow at her. Amy shook her head with a mumbled, "Right. Sorry," and reached for the pack of gum. "Thank you."

"I wouldn't extend myself like that," Isabel said as Amy took the pack of gum. "Not for gum anyway."

Amy nodded, tearing open the wrapper and removing the tin foiled wrapped gum and offering it to Duncan. "Thank you, but no." He hadn't been much of a gum chewer and he didn't feel like starting the habit when there would likely be such a limited supply. "Second thought," he said suddenly holding out his hand, he had the feeling this might be one of the last reminders of home he would see for a long while. He removed the gum from the tin foil, crumpled it and slipped it into his pocket while at the same time he plopped the stick of gum into his mouth.

Handing the pack of gum back to Isabel, Amy asked, "I don't suppose you got a decent scotch hidden in that backpack. For some unexplained reason I'm in the mood for a good stiff drink."

Isabel smiled lightly, a small curve of her lips. "I'll see what I can do later, but right now I think all of us better keep our wits about us. Maybe its paranoia, but I don't trust these people. Especially that woman—"

"I agree," Duncan slipped in. "Twice, when we were talking, I felt this connection…"

"She's a…" Amy paused for a moment. "She's like you?"

Duncan shook his head saying, "No." He shot Amy a small smile before adding, "She's not that." He gathered his thoughts before continuing. "Every person has an essence, a life force. If you know what you're doing, what you're looking, if you had a good enough teacher you can sense it. Not all can learn in any case."

"But this woman's connected to something else?" Isabel inquired.

Duncan nodded shortly. Amy was smart enough, she should be able to pick up what he was trying to say. If he knew more about Isabel, if he trusted her then keeping his secret wouldn't be that great of a concern. He could hardly trust somebody when they had secrets of their own. Isabel's essence wasn't exactly what he would call normal. "I only felt it twice and briefly, but it was… Infinite." It made the strongest Immortal he's ever encountered seem a speck of dust in comparison, less even. As if the mote of dust were the sun and the Immortal single molecule racing around within it. "If the universe were to have an essence this would be it."

Isabel whistled softly in the stillness. "That's a mighty big thing to have an eight-hundred number to," she mumbled, her face twisting with worry.

Duncan could imagine why, from what he had seen of her power. He didn't know if Isabel was strong or weak when it came to her power, nobody here did, only Isabel and she must be wondering how she stacks up in comparison with this new power. "It's only a link," Duncan said and Isabel glanced at him, the speculation back in her eyes. "Not like she can use it all."

"Not that you know," Isabel replied clearly unhappy with the turn of events.

"If she could do something, don't you think she would have done it by now?" Amy pointed out.

Isabel turned her head bringing the older woman into view. "The Eternal optimist?"

"Hardly," Amy answered. She blew out a breath and looked around them again, incredulity painting a stark relief on her features. She shook her head and turned back to Isabel, "I just figure, with everything else that has gone wrong today, we're due for a break."

Isabel sighed and for a brief moment Duncan had the distinct feeling she wanted to slap Amy. Duncan didn't believe in the jinx theory, especially not the way Richie explained it to him, but it seemed fairly obvious Isabel did. Methos would call it a self fulfilling prophecy. Duncan didn't necessarily believe in those no matter what Cassandra claimed or how accurate her predictions had been.

Instead of violence Isabel turned toward Duncan and said, "You really seemed to know what you're doing." She looked his blood stained clothes over. It looked like somebody had taken a knife to the silk shirt he was wearing. "I take it you've dealt with their type before?" It wasn't really a question but it probed all the same.

"A time or two," Duncan said as he realized what Isabel was looking at. Despite the blood, he bore no wounds, nothing but unblemished skin as far as she could so. It was probably something Verin picked up as well; for all she may look like a doddering old biddy, the woman didn't miss anything. "Back in my youth, when I concerned myself politics and thought I could make a grand difference."

Isabel moving a little closer as she said, "You make it sound like it happened a hundred years ago."

"Sometimes it feels more like three hundred," Duncan said with a sigh. Amy snorted at nothing in particular and Duncan spared her a slight frown but the woman wasn't paying him much attention. "Guess there's no help for it."

"Here," Isabel said reaching out. She kept the movement small trying not to attract unwanted notice. Her hand passed over the ripped fabric and it was simply whole again, as if he had just plucked from his closet that very morning. It reminded Duncan of the comics and movies Richie invested a great deal of time enjoying.

A pensive frown crinkled his face for a moment. The last thing he wanted to do was offend the Isabel. "I'm a little curious, and you don't have to answer if you'd rather not, but… How'd you manage all this? Are you some sort of mutant? Like Super Man."

Isabel frowned at him. There was something really wrong with that question, plus she didn't want to lie to Duncan but she didn't know if he could handle the truth about her. Before she could answer though the heavy thud of hundreds of boot steps all marching in unison filled the air and more soldiers filled the square. They quickly filed out forming a hollowed square around Duncan, Amy, and Isabel.

With them came three dozen women, each one wearing a fringed shawl—red was the prominent color, but there were also blues and greens and yellows and a few others as well—and a stern scowl as if cloth and glares were armor and shield. A gold ring, a serpent eating its own tail if Duncan wasn't mistaken, seemed to be their weapon of choice. Each one was completely different from their companions; from how their hair was styled to the cloth and cut of their clothes, silk with lace fringes and fine embroidery to plain country wool, even their shoes varied greatly, from soft slippers to mud-caked boots.

They all had one thing in common, like Verin; their faces were too smooth, with no appreciable age that could be put to them, whether their hair had enough gray in it to be his grandmother or they giggled like girls being courted.

There was very little of the second going around at present though.

More then twenty men came with the women; hard faces and eyes sparkling with anticipation, their swords seemed so much a part of them that Duncan was not sure they weren't. The one thing every man had in common with each other were their cloaks, like a chameleon they faded into whatever was behind them, shifting relentlessly as they moved. Looking at anyone directly was enough to strain eyes and cause headaches, taking in all of them could make a man nauseous. Few of the men shared any similarities with their follows; a beard possibly or a certain hair style or perhaps a cut of cloth, but for the most they were as varied as the women they escorted… Guarded like rabid dogs of war. They were coiled springs wound too tight, just waiting to explode, watching everything at once.

That sense that all the women were linked to something greater was there as well, but it was different, greater, as if it wound through all of them together at the same time. That wasn't quite right. He concentrated a little more, delved deeper trying to sense the truth of the matter, but it was elusive.

Quicker then a lightening strike he felt that same brush again, like he had with Verin; but stronger, more insistent. The air itself seemed to coalesce around him, enveloped him. He reached for his sword, the movement slow, there was a murmured ripple and suddenly the air was like steel.

Something struck the barrier, it resounded with a crash and he sensed more then heard Isabel scream out and fall to a knee, Amy moving next to her, offering support. He could sense the women gathering their power again, readying a second strike.

Only it didn't come.

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Pain such as Isabel has never experienced before ripped through her as whatever it was those women were doing hammered away at the dome she erected. It tore at something deep inside of her and she clutched at her head when the pain intensified.

Amy was next to her, saying something but it sounded like gibberish.

Snarling like some animal as Isabel lifted her head, a feral light burning in her eyes. She couldn't fight them; they were too strong like they were, out here, where they knew what they're all about, but she did have options, and they made it so easy for her… Connected as most of them were.

She didn't know what she was doing, she seldom did. The power was hers, and she used it to do almost anything she could think of, but—with a few rare exceptions—she never understood how the power worked.

Reaching out Isabel latched onto whatever it was that connected these women, twisting it ruthlessly as she frantically grabbed hold of the other women she could feel. She doesn't know if she caught all of them, she doesn't believe so; there were a few that seemed to wink out before she could get a hold of them. They were struggling so hard and each instant she could feel them wriggling, trying to free themselves. It was like holding onto greased eels, electric eels that are constantly trying to zap you. In a moment they would free themselves and she didn't believe they would be so easy to catch a second time. Now was the time to take this battle someplace were the odds would be a little more in her favor.

With that thought Isabel fell asleep. She would have dropped to the ground only Amy was by her side and laid her on the ground amazed that she could nod off when she had been in such pain only a moment ago. Her pulse was strong and her breathing normal. Looking up Amy noticed a large number of the woman had collapsed to the ground, as if tiredness suddenly robbed them. A good portion of the warriors with those odd color shifting cloaks wore concerned frowns as they checked on the women.

Duncan still hadn't moved a muscle; he's been standing stiff as a statue for some time now. Whatever Isabel had done to those women hadn't effected what they had done to Duncan.

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Verin studied her fellow sisters, twenty-three of the twenty-seven, as they lay in the square after falling unconscious, abducted by Isabel Evens, who was lying peacefully on the grass inside the dome… Far more peacefully then the Aes Sedai, their breathing was short and haggard and she could see their eyes moving behind their eyelids as if in the midst of a group nightmare. Such a thing should be impossible; that they still held onto the one power while in such a deep sleep should have been impossible as well. The Warders of the captured Aes Sedai knelt beside their mistress quickly checking them over, ensuring themselves that there was no natural cause, no wounds or other injury that could account for their state. There was something in their eyes of an unexplained fear they must be experiencing through their shared bond. Warders never liked when they were unable to defend their Aes Sedai.

She, nor any of the other four Aes Sedai, who had recognized what was taking place, were even able to delve their sisters, uncertain if Isabel would be able to sense their drawing on the one power, and pull them into the same cage she now held their sisters. No matter how impossible such a thing seemed moments ago it was a possibility now.

Neither Isabel or Amy could channel, neither had the ability yet when the reds struck at the dome Isabel had been the one to scream out as if somehow connected to green barrier. Isabel had been the one to strike back, of that Verin was positive, somehow grabbing hold of their link to the one power and spiriting them away. While Isabel couldn't channel, she did possess a power they hadn't been able to detect. Old things walked the world anew, but very, very few acknowledged the fact, even among Aes Sedai. They had been arrogant in their assumptions and now there was a good chance sisters were going to die.

She twisted her gaze to Duncan Macleod… The man did not look happy, and he seemed to be straining against the bonds holding him. It was a futile effort, a waste of energy on his part and yet she could feel the strain against the knot, even without embracing the one power she could still feel the weave that held him. He couldn't channel, of that she was positive, but it had taken greater strength to bind him with air then it should have and now he putting tension on a knotted weave. It suggested he was quite a bit more then what he appeared to be, that he was obviously stronger then other men, stronger then warders, maybe even strong as a fade.

Perhaps there was something he could do…?

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They floated in a void of white nothingness, as far as the eye could see, nothing but white. They could have been standing, only there was no support under their feet. They could have been lying down, only there was nothing under their backs. They could have been upside down, only their skirts hung in the proper direction. They could look around, examine their surroundings, a little concentration was all it took to spin themselves, but the only things to see to see were each other and the vast whiteness enclosing them, before a single rotation could be completed most felt a vague nausea settle inside.

Between one tick of time and the next crackling louder then thunder erupted from the emptiness, a deluge of noise that filled every ear as flecks of color, thousand upon thousands of colors, from the blackest of blacks to the whitest of whites and every possible color in between filled the emptiness. It was a snowstorm of color and sound that assaulted them. A few fought through the assault, tried to return the space to the normality that had proceeded, but quickly discovered the limited control they had managed earlier to be vastly insufficient for the task at hand. A single sound crashed down upon them, a voice that made the crackling seem nothing more then a whisper.

**I CONTROL ALL THAT YOU EXPERIENCE HERE**

There was the sudden feeling of being stretched, of their bodies being pulled into a line thin as a strand of hair and then pulled further to something that made a single hair an oak tree.

**THE HORIZONTAL**

Then in a blink there was the feeling of elongation, of being taller then a building but flatter then a piece of paper. Taller and flatter, until surely they must have to look down upon heaven itself.

**THE VERTICAL**

Everything snapped back to the way it had been, blessed whiteness with the only sound silence. Several clutched their stomachs, some wept openly. Quite a few did a little of both.

**I CAN DELUDE YOU WITH A THOUSAND IMAGES**

Images swirled around them; some too horrific, too obscene for any but the Dark One himself to have imagined, rapes and graphic murder. Dark creatures that dined on human flesh, human blood; insects and spiders, bees and wasps that swarm over mankind, some the size of buildings as they swept humanity away in their mindless hunger. A red skinned creature with horns of polished darkness that stood on goat like hooves with fingernails and teeth like razor sharp daggers that spit curses at humanity as it was dragged screaming into the gentle light of day. Sleek crafts, that race among the stars firing beams of light and explode like miniature suns, a black sphere that brought death to the planets with a beam of light. Another red skinned creature with horns of fire and a fist locked in stone, a girl who burns with a blue fire, a boy sucked into the wall by an apparition, a woman with water cascading over her unaware of a man with a knife poised to strike, dozens of people being struck dead by razor sharp steel as a child of pure evil watches with satisfied malice, a young man battles a dark entity with swords of light. On and on they came until they seemed as if they would never end.

Just that suddenly they did.

**EXPAND A SINGLE IMAGE TO CRYSTAL CLARITY**

There was the sense of moving back, further and further until they stared down into a single blue eye.

**I CAN SHAPE YOUR VISION TO ANYTHING I CAN CONCIEVE. I CAN CONSIGN YOU TO THE PITS OF HELL FOR ALL ETERNITY**

Dark skies roiled over red landscape. Sulfurs' fumes boiled out of the putrid lakes. The ground underfoot burned through shoes in seconds and flesh began to blister. Inhuman screams, shrill cries of deepest despair and unimaginable anguish filled the air. Endless cries that ripped at their ears. Winged creatures circled overhead, pikes of various size and shapes held at the ready, heavy swords and axes hung from their hips. A high pitch screech never heard by human ears filled the air. The creatures surged downward intent on swarming over these scrumptious new morsels.

The landscape vanished as if it had never been there. Now they stood upon a balcony as regal as any throne room. A banister of finely wrought marble connected a pair of columns that were twice the size as any they had ever seen, they bulged in the middle, some twenty five paces above the floor before tapering back down to nearly five feet around. The floor was made of some dark stone none of them were familiar with. The wall hangings depicted scenes of impossible scope, animals that were beyond imaging and plants that couldn't exist. The curtain and drapes were made of a material that was so fine, so sheer that it was nearly transparent, it gave the illusion of solidity, but when the breeze took it shimmered and images flickered across it surface.

All of that paled with the view beyond the balcony. The air itself was a pale green and seemed somehow thicker, almost like water. There were no clouds in the sky above, at least nothing they would recognize as being clouds; there were this wisps of something that seemed to whisk pass faster then any cloud they had ever seen and seemed to move against the wind.

None of that drew more then a casual glance; for beyond it, above it was a sight that surpassed any imagining. A planet hovered just above them, in what was practically shouting distance to them. So close to them they could make out land masses and large bodies of water if water had ever been a forest green color, even make out the ice cap at the western side of the planet.

"Beautiful," a voice said from behind them; taking them by surprise. The group of women turned almost as one at Isabel's voice. She wore a Greek style gown made from materials impossible to duplicate on Earth; it nearly look like leather but felt softer then silk, it was sheer and seemed to cling to her every curve, but allowed her skin to breath and was as cool as high mountain spring. It was a deep burgundy color, only richer, darker and had never before been seen on Earth; it was somehow vibrant and seemed to shimmer with her subtlest movement. Her skin was the same coppery hue it has always been, but it seemed to possess a warmth that had never been there before and almost glowed. She lounged almost lazily upon a gilded divan, her upper body partially supported by its ivory like arm that curved in a way the eye had trouble following. Reaching up she plucked a small grape like fruit from a hanging plant, but no grape had ever been a soft magenta color. "I sincerely hope you don't spoil this memory for me. It's one of the few I have from my home world," she said before biting into the fruit. It was sweet and bitter by turns and she had no idea what it was called, but that didn't really matter, it was the show that she needed now. She didn't see much point to hiding the fact she came from an alien world, not with her arrival.

Almost on cue the grumbling started. Isabel mostly ignored them as she tried to recall even more from the memory. This was more then she has ever received before, but ever since the incident with Kivar her old memories have been increasing in detail. She wasn't sure that she like that. Vilandra hadn't been the most loyal or trustworthy person and Isabel was no longer sure just how much she wanted to remember her last life.

The women turning on each other, snipping at one other drew Isabel out of her musing. These women were dangerous and she needed to focus on them. One of them, she supposed it was their elected leader, silenced the group with a glance. She was older with a bit of meat on her bones and a touch of grey in her hair. That was the only way she could tell the woman was more then a girl most of the others looked. Her shawl was fringed in red, as were the vast majority of the women here.

"How dare you!" The woman started in a harsh voice fit to scold a child. The look in her eyes said she was scolding a child. "Abduct us in such a fashion. Return us now!"

Isabel locked her green eyes with the woman's dark orbs and thought about turning her something much more pleasant… Maybe a pit viper? Something of her intentions must have shown in her face because the woman blanched and seemed to lean away from her as she stood. Wearing only sandals she towered over these women. "How dare I?" Isabel hissed from between clenched teeth. "How dare I?" She was taking a serious dislike to these women in general, this one in particular. She decided it was time to take a page out of Duncan Macleod's book. "My name is Isabel Amanda Evans Ramirez, in my last life I was Vilandra queen of Antar—" It was better then the truth, that she was a power hungry princess who betrayed her family to a man that was simply using her to gain the throne for himself. That she was too blinded by the power to see the truth. Besides she had the feeling she was going to need every scrape of Royalty she could scrap together to cow these women. "—the throne world of the entire Antaran empire. My word was law on five planets and all their satellite colonies. Over a hundred billion sentient beings bowed to my will, and you ask how I dare." Now that I've shown them Vilandra, the Uber Bitch, time to win them over Isabel, the not so quite uber bitch. "I come to your world lost, a refugee with no idea where I am, how I was transported there or if I will ever be able to return home and the first thing that happens when I arrive is that me and my companions are attacked without provocation. I could have turned your soldiers to cinders if I had been so inclined, but decided against it, instead hoping to negotiate a peaceful resolution, even going so far as returning you young ones with nothing being offered in return for them. Then you attack; binding Macleod, striking out against me. I could leave you here, torment you with hellish visions until your minds cracked from the nightmares I inflict on you, but I still believe we can come to some sort of understanding."

"Perhaps we can," another woman said. Her shawl was fringed in gray and Isabel wondered at what the different colors signified. She was tall and lean, with a small boned face, dark hair and patient brown eyes. She wasn't as tall as Isabel herself, but amongst the rest of these hens she would definitely be the stork. Isabel couldn't tell if the woman was any older then the first woman or not, there was something in her dark eyes that said if she wasn't older she was at least more mature. "My name is Ashmanaille, please allow me to apologize for our earlier actions. We normally do not receive visitors in such a fashion. When things of your nature happen it has most often been the precursor to an attack."

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Several minutes had passed since Isabel cried out and collapsed to the ground and Amy had yet to move; hovering over the younger woman, checking her pulse and her breathing regularly. So far everything appeared to be normal, except for Isabel being in such a deep sleep that her best efforts to wake the sleeping blonde had no effect and Duncan doing his best impersonation of a mime mimicking a statue. _Everything normal there_.

Taking another look around the area Amy pursed her lips and sighed. She was certain there was something she had to be missing, but if there was it was beyond her understanding. She glanced back at Isabel and almost jumped straight up as green eyes lashed her to the spot, an iron grip on her forearm kept her from bolting away.

"Listen to me," Isabel hissed so quietly that Amy thought she had imagined it only the look in Isabel's eyes screamed it wasn't fantasy. "You need to act like my servant… A handmaiden—"

"Like he—"

"Listen," Isabel snapped cutting off Amy's guttural curse. "These people believe I used to be queen of a galaxy spanning empire."

Amy's frown deepened at Isobel's words. The only reason they would believe that was because Isabel told them, but Isabel had a slight southwest accent in her otherwise cultured voice and she knew too much about Earth to be some type of deposed alien refugee. Still she couldn't help asking, "Are you?" It was impossible, but there was a bit of trepidation that it might be true.

"Princess," Isabel answered and Amy could tell the woman believed it. Which of course didn't make it any more real then a moment before, it just meant Isabel badly needed her medication. "But queen carries a bit more authority." Isabel's eyes darted around and Amy looked up, noticing for the first time that a number of the Aes Sedai were beginning to stir. "It'll only be while we're in public together, which won't be very often…" There was a slight pause before Isabel added, "I can pay you."

Amy pulled her attention away from the Aes Sedai. "Money?"

"Something better then money," Isabel answered as she held up a hundred dollar bill so that only Amy could see it. "With it, you could make all the money you wanted."

"How?" Amy whispered dumbfounded. Her shirt had no sleeves and she wasn't sure if Isabel's pants had any pockets or if they did have pockets that you could actually put things in them.

Isabel smiled, a sort of I got you smirk before she said, "I can teach you." Amy nodded quickly, how couldn't she. She had glimpsed Isabel's power and if the woman could teach her something of it. "Good, go gather our belongings, Duncan's as well since he's our bodyguard," Isabel said as Amy helped her to her feet. "Helpfully he's smart enough to figure out his role without me telling him," Isabel grumbled before she marched up to the man.

Amy gave a slight start when he suddenly gave a jerk. His glare could cut hardened steel as he watched the Aes Sedai and Amy had the feeling they would be smart if they slept with one eye open for a while. Suddenly Amy realized that the dome was down, that there was no barrier between her and these… She really wanted to call them aliens but they looked as human to her as Duncan and Isabel, only Isabel claimed she was an alien. Maybe she was the alien and these people were the real humans, after all it was their world and she was the visitor. Still she wished the dome was up, that there was some kind of shield between her and them.

She grabbed her purse, draped the strap over her shoulder and went to gather up Duncan's long coat. There was a whole in the front breast and blood stained the interior, it looked suspiciously like a bullet hole, but Duncan had a habit of getting himself shot. His file was full of incident after incident, it often read like a swashbuckling romance novel with him the central character that rescues the damsels and puts right all the wrongs.

Another sigh escaped her as she took in Isabel's backpack, of course it would have to be loaded down with the thickest books imaginable. Amy had to wonder what an alien princess needed to know about Comparative Physics, String or M-Theory. She grunted sourly as she hefted the heavy bag and slung it over her shoulder. She was positive if she had to lug it around all day she would wind up in traction.

She was surprised to notice the majority of soldiers and guards were leaving. Most of the Aes Sedai were still present, which meant just about all of their bodyguards were there as well. Men that eyed everything with the keenest interest without ever becoming so focused on one thing they lost track of everything else. As if there weren't twenty other men just like them within spitting distance.

Duncan took his coat from her when she handed it too him, slipped his sword and dirk into the coat and the weapons disappeared somewhere within the folds before he threw the duster on. It settled on his shoulders, the weight so evenly balanced that she couldn't tell where his sword was.

"Come," said one of the Aes Sedai. Amy had no idea what the woman's name was and at the moment she wasn't all that interested in finding out. "The Amyrlin Seat, she wishes to see what sort of people appear out of lightening."

With those words they formed up around them, Aes Sedai, soldiers and guards and began marching up the cobblestone walk and she was forced to walk with them or be trampled under. Amy definitely didn't like the feeling in her gut, as if she was being led to the headsman.


	3. Prologue: Land of Confusion Part Three

Prologue: Land of Confusion—Part Three

Morgase, queen of Andor, sat upon the lion throne in a state of supreme calm despite the ornately carved and flawlessly gilded chair's worst afflictions; the lip of the seat was a bit too sharp and bit into the back of her leg, a bur on the surface had worn through the cushion, there was a rough patch on the arm that irritated the skin just below her elbow. She would talk to Reene Harfor, the First Maid, to see about repairs although she wasn't entirely sure what good it would do, the entire chair was simply too rigid forcing her to sit like a plank of wood. Her back and shoulders were always stiff after and would sometime take hours for the tension to leave her limbs.

But she would endure. This was too important for her not to.

It was the same battle she waged everyday at this time as she listened to petitioners who sought her judgment in all manner of things. Some of what was brought before her was the most inane drivel she has ever heard and never would have reached her if they were of lesser rank, but because of who these nobles were, the problems they could cause if these matters were not resolved quickly and fairly. Nothing like the plotting and scheming that took place down in Cairhien, but even a fraction of that was too much.

An oppressiveness filled the room, as if the air itself gained the weight of a thousand stones. She wasn't the only one to notice the change; several of the nobles were casting glances around the large chamber, keeping the movements small so as not to be noticed. A fair number of guards' hands itched closer to their swords; even Gareth Bryne seemed on edge, which was saying something considering the man would face a thousand Whitecloaks alone, with nothing but his bare hands and never once appear as if anything was out of sorts.

Most telling of all was that Elaida had set aside her knitting. She was just beginning to stand when a bolt of lightening flashed from directly overhead. It struck in the center of the room, tossing those closest a good five paces away. Those further away were knocked aside by the sheer force of the bolt, a concussive wave that flattened everything as it radiated outward. Even upon her dais, protected as she was behind Elaida's hastily erected barrier, Morgase felt the pressure of that wave. There was a tense strain on Elaida's face as she held the wall erect; Morgase could only imagine how much strain the other woman felt.

Where the lightening bolt had struck a smoking crater nearly three paces across now sat, the marble floor was cracked like a shattered mirror and pieces fused together like polished silver. A miracle or some other twist of fate that no one had actually been struck by the massive bolt, but impossibly four people had somehow appeared, deposited there by the lightening. Three were women, two with dark almost black hair and the other with short blonde, and one man with close cropped sandy brown hair. Unlike the three women the man was on his feet though clearly disorientated. The blonde hair girl was just beginning to push herself to her knees while the other two women were lying on the ground as if they had somehow absorbed the brunt of the force that brought them here.

Their clothes, while oddly familiar were made even stranger for their similarities; trousers were trousers and shoes were shoes, but she had never seen anything that compared to what they wore. The man's shirt fit him with a snugness that more then suggested a sleek torso and smooth arms without showing anything that wasn't proper, it was dark with long sleeves and tight against his throat. His trousers were an interwoven grayish black material, but the weave was finer then any she had ever seen before. They were tight along his thighs and upper legs but oddly loose below his knees, and he wore white shoes that were laced up the front.

The older woman was the only one of the three women to be attired in proper clothes; a dark pleated skirt and a pale rose colored blouse, but she was wearing dark boots with some type of interlocking metal running up the inside. The younger girls were both dressed in men's style clothes, breaches with shirts that would have made decent small clothes if there had been more material. The blonde's was barely a string that draped over her shoulders. Metal pierced her flesh in places none but an Atha'an Miere would dare pierce and possibly a few they wouldn't and colorful tattoos covered even more of her lightly bronzed flesh.

As most of the petitioners were pulling themselves to their feet and deciding that now would make an excellent time to withdraw. Gareth Bryne put himself in front of Morgase and shouted quick order to the guards that Morgase only half heard as she turned her attention toward Elaida and demanded, "What can you tell me?"

"I have never seen the power used in such a way." Her voice sounded strained. "I sense no ability in the women and I would even at this distance."

_It was man's work_, the thought was like ice water splashed in her face. She had suspected, but to have Elaida's words confirm her suspicions. She glanced back; the man was clearly frantic, possibly even a bit mad. "Can you shield him?"

"I shall endeavor," Elaida answered, a look of concentration creasing her brow.

Morgase nodded and turned back. She knew Elaida would not fail. The woman never failed at anything she set out to accomplish. Guards, groggy to be sure, were closing on the group, swords drawn and at the ready. More soldiers were rushing in, alerted to the disturbance by the press of fleeing nobles. The man staggered, his palm pressed to his forehead.

The blonde tilted her head, staring directly at the guard approaching her, his sword held in a steady hand. If he said anything it was too soft for Morgase to hear. The next instant the guard hurtled through the air, crashing into several others as if tossed away by an angry Ogier. They went down in a tangled heap.

"That's torn it," the man said, or something very close. The next instant he moved, rushing at the largest group of guards. They appeared to have been carved from stone he was so fast. The first guard he hit flew back at least six paces and probably would have gone further only the retreating crowd engulfed him.

In that single moment four other guards were already out of the fight. They moved so slowly compared to the stranger, as if they were fighting through jelled water while nothing inhibited the stranger.

"Elaida," Morgase said sharply. For the first time in quite some while she was able to detect panic at the edge of her voice.

If her voice was strained Elaida's was still winter's ice from the highest peaks. "I am trying. The man is impossibly strong."

"You need to go my Queen," Bryne said urgently, with far more force then was proper for a soldier speaking to his queen.

"I am not leaving," Morgase answered in a voice that wouldn't be budged and Bryne scowled darkly at her. She understood that she was making his job far more difficult then it needed to be, nearly impossible, but if her soldiers were willing to die for her she wasn't about to run out on them.

"You should heed Lord Bryne's advice while we have the situation contained," Elaida insisted with a hiss. Her brow was knitted with the effort she was exerting and it did look as if she had managed to hinder the man. He was still moving, but he no longer seemed to be a blur, streaking through her man and dispatching them at will. The Palace Guards were finally able to strike back, for all the good it did them. Razor sharp steel struck flesh and stopped without drawing the tiniest welt of blood. At one moment she thought the fight was going to be over quickly when a guard slipped in behind him and drove a heavy bladed dagger home with a strong arm, only the blade snapped as if it were tinder. "It is like trying to stop an avalanche with my bare hands." The words were so soft that Morgase wasn't sure she heard them correctly.

The escalating violence had roused the mother and daughter. Despite the confusion in her dark eyes the older woman quickly grabbed hold of her daughter and tried to make them as small as possible. The girl saw the fight taking place and broke away with a strangled cry of, "Dad," on her lips. She couldn't have been any older then Elayne and showed about an equal amount of prudence as she threw herself into the heat of the battle.

Morgase watched in horror as the girl tackled one of her guards, driving her shoulder into his ribs. He reacted instinctively, years of intense training taking over as he was knocked off stride. He twisted, driving the pommel of his sword into the side of her head and she crumpled to the floor, laying in heap.

"Heather!" the mother screamed.

Green mist enveloped the guard and he flew up and back, smashing into the wall with a clatter, spun round and round like a mad pinwheel caught in a windstorm before dropping to the floor, discarded by whatever force that held him there.

"Heather," the mother wailed again and rushed forward only one of the guards grabbed her and was unprepared for her fury as her fist connected with his jaw and her knee with his groin. He dropped to his knees and she darted toward her daughter again, but the guard grabbed hold of her ankle and pulled back. She fell, face first to the floor.

A good portion of the petitioners had already fled the hall, showing uncommon sense, while the majority of Courtiers were still in attendance. Most of the men had their swords drawn, quite a few had even attempted to aid her guards in arresting the man and now lay on the floor, some groaning softly others unconscious and unmoving like a good many of her guards.

The blonde was hovering over Heather, feeling along girl's neck with her first two fingers; she shifted, listened to her chest for a moment and shifted again. She laced her fingers together, the palm of her left hand pressed onto the knuckles of her right and placed her hands over Heather's chest, over her heart and began to press down and then relax, down and relax; in a slow, steady rhythm.

The mother kicked out, the heel of her boot smashing the guard's face and she scrambled away from him. "Heather," she called out again surging towards her daughter.

The man's punch struck clean and the guard flew back and crashed into another guard and both went down in a tangle mass of limbs and swords. He brushed aside another sword, unconcerned about its razor sharp edge as he turned to deliver another punch, only his fist stopped a bare hairsbreadth from the man's face. He stared at the two women, one lying unmoving and the other crawling rapidly across the floor on hands and knees. "Lisa… Heather."

A look blossomed in his eyes that Morgase had never seen before, madness wrapped in seething anger. The stranger rushed forward, tossing armed guards aside as if they were nothing more then straw-men. Elaida grunted as if she had just been kicked in the stomach, and she clutched her head as she dropped back onto her stool.

"He's too strong," Elaida whispered. She didn't sound pleased to be making that admission. Even sitting Elaida appeared dazed and seemed to be having some trouble staying upright.

The blonde girl had moved again, tilting Heather's head back and pressing her mouth to Heather's and appeared to be breathing for her. It was a technique Morgase had never heard of before.

This needed to be brought to an end; Elaida was incapacitated, her guards were being overwhelmed by a single man who was stronger and faster then anything she had ever seen before and seemed all but impervious to their weapons.

One girl, who possessed a sort of power similar to Aes Sedai, yet wasn't the One Power, was trying to save the life of another girl no older then Elayne, and a mother who fought with the passion of cornered lion.

"Stop!" Morgase ordered in a voice that was heard in every corner of the vast hall. Her guards responded immediately to the sound of her voice and followed her command without question.

The man didn't care as he shoved his way past them. The woman, who was closer, reached their daughter first, scrambling up to the two girls. There was a good deal of blood on the floor from the gash along her scalp.

"She's not breathing," the blonde said as she looked up into the woman's haggard face. "There's something broken," she nodded towards Heather's head, "and I can't find a pulse. I would've healed her only I'm no good with head wounds… Nothing this serious."

Morgase descended the stairs at the far end of dais; both Gareth Bryne and Elaida following close behind, Bryne more hovering then following while Elaida seemed to be choosing her steps far more carefully then she normally would have.

"You can heal her?" The man asked skidding to a stop.

The blonde twisted her head around, sympathy and anguish glistening in her wet eyes. "Any other part of the body she'd be as good as new, but I've never been good with the brain. I'm sorry, if I hadn't—"

"Don't," the man cut in harshly. "We all screwed up here."

Considered softhearted by the vast majority of her detractors, there was no denying that seeing parents kneeling over their fallen child touched a place deep in her heart. She couldn't help but picture herself and Elayne in their place. As queen she has had to make many difficult decisions, but her soldiers' lives were worth far more then her pride and if she allowed this skirmish to continue she would be risking the one for the other. "Perhaps we may be of some assistance," Morgase offered in her most regal voice while still managing to sound sympathetic.

"My Queen," Bryne snapped sharply, "we know nothing about these people. Who they are? Where they're from? Why they are here?"

Morgase silenced him with little more then a flicker of her eyes. "Look at them Lord Bryne. Do you see anything about them that is other then two parents concerned with the welfare of their child," she challenged her Captain General. He acquiesced almost silently, grumbling under his breath, but he did give over and she turned glittering blue eyes back on the strangers in her court. "Do you swear that is all you are?" She demanded in a voice hard as steel.

"What else would I be?" The man answered, his voice seethed.

"What else indeed?" Elaida asked moving forward. It put Morgase in mind of a spider weaving its web. "I should warn you, I'm not at my strongest with healing. If the girl is dead then there is nothing anybody can do," she said unfazed by the blood as it parted before her and she knelt behind Heather's head. She placed her hand on the girl's forehead and sat unmoving until she looked up and said, "She's already beyond my help."

"No," the man snarled. "There has to be—"

"I am sorry," Elaida snapped but the emotionless tone of her voice gave her the lie. "The girl is dead and I am not the Creator," she said emphasizing each word.

"Can you fix the damage?" The blonde asked quickly. "If you can do that, I can restart her body and brain. A little electric shock, just like jump starting a car."

Morgase felt ice form in her veins at the girl's words, what she was proposing was impossible. The dead could not be returned to life; no one had such power. No Aes Sedai in history, none would even attempt such a feat. Only the girl sounded so very confident in her ability to do just that.

"Such a thing is not possible," Elaida assured the girl vehemently.

"Maybe for you…" Lisa growled viciously.

"Can you do what I asked?" The girl demanded.

"…On our world people have been revived after being dead longer then this," the mother finished.

There was a sense of desperation in her voice and Morgase wondered what the woman would say or do to save her child's life. Morgase could well imagine sacrificing near anything if it was Elayne lying there. "Elaida," Morgase said with quiet steel in her voice, "if you can do as she asked—"

Elaida sighed, a deep exhalation. "I am unsure if such a thing is possible," she admitted, "but I shall endeavor."

Once again there was a palpable pressure building in the hall, only now it was centered on Elaida. For several minutes nothing appeared to be happening. Morgase noticed Bryne had placed himself within arms length of the man and frowned, the corner of her eyes tightening at the dangerous position the man had placed himself in. She had never seen anybody move and fight like the stranger, he was stronger and faster then any warrior she has ever heard of, so strong that a single Aes Sedai couldn't hold him with air. He was about a forehead taller then Bryne and much slimmer through the shoulders, chest, and waist. "You're a very gifted warrior," Bryne finally said with a grudging admiration.

Blue eyes shifted slightly as the man glared at Bryne. "If you say so," he said in a tone that made it clear he was in no mood to talk.

The wound in the girl's temple closed slowly, the flesh returning to a creamy complexion. Elaida pulled her hands back and grimaced as if she had put something foul tasting in her mouth. "It is not so difficult as I thought it would be. Something even an accepted should be able to accomplish without much difficulty."

"Yeah, great. Good to know, but if you don't mind… Move," the blonde said forcing the Aes Sedai away from Heather. She shot a quick glance at Heather's parents, her cheeks coloring as her left hand rested between Heather's breasts and she placed her right hand on Heather's forehead. Her hands glowed brilliantly and pulsed softly. Again and again, several times with nothing but the grimace on the girl's face to indicate there was problem. "It's not working," she mumbled through clenched teeth. "This should work… Why isn't it working," she growled. Her gaze becoming more intense, the energy she was channeling altering somehow.

"It's okay," the father said taking a step forward.

She shook her head angrily. "I'm not—she'd be all right if I hadn't…"

"You've done everything you can."

"No," she hissed as a concussive wave burst outward knocking everybody there off their feet. "There's something holding her, fighting me. Powerful, dark… He doesn't understand—" Several people were back on their feet, mostly those further away from the epicenter. Elaida, Bryne, and Lisa seemed stunned, but Morgase noted the father was already moving forward. Morgase pushed herself up and rushed toward the girl. A soft green glow had sprung up around her and Morgase could just hear the words, "He isn't keeping you," before she threw herself at the girl. She crossed the barrier at almost the same time as the father. A chill seemed to course over her body, as if she had just been immersed in frozen water.

She blinked, opened her eyes.

Gareth Bryne was putting himself in front of her, shouting orders to the guards, calling for reinforcements as the petitioners were making hasty withdrawals. Guards were already filing in, alerted by the press of departing nobles. "What happened?" She whispered to herself.

"I have never seen the power used in such a way." Elaida answered, her voice sounded strained. "I sense no ability in the women and I would even at this distance."

The father was looking around, confusion bright as day on his face. She knew the feeling. Morgase wasn't sure how, or if she even wanted to know but somehow the girl had transported them back in time to just after their arrival, before the fighting broke out. She looked around; her eyes seemed to be glazed over, smiled faintly, and then collapsed to the floor. Heather was at her side almost instantly.

"Stop!" Morgase shouted and everybody did exactly that. She had the chance to keep everything from spiraling out of control, to prevent Heather's death. She didn't know how the girl accomplished such a thing, but she had and it was up to her to take advantage. "Elaida, the girl appears in some distress, perhaps you might be able to do some small thing for her."

Elaida frowned but it was Bryne who spoke saying, "My queen." His voice was rough and too familiar sounding, almost chastising. "We have no idea who these people are, what their intentions may be. They need to be kept under guard until we can determine if they pose a threat to you or to Andor."

The father tensed, his knuckles turning white as his fist tightened. "The only thing I'm a threat to are pinheads that put my family in danger." The threat in his voice was clear to anyone listening and Gareth wasn't the only person to stiffen. That was hardly the way Morgase saw things. He was quite possible the most dangerous man she has ever seen. She didn't know a single man that could fight like him, was as strong as him, was impervious to steel as he was.

Lisa placed her hand on his forearm and said, "Michael," in as soothing a voice as possible.

"I'm not doing it again," Michael hissed, gaze like molten ice as he stared at everyone, but he didn't move away from the contact. "I've just spent a year playing the lab rat with you and Heather held hostage against my good behavior. I'm not trading one cage for another."

"And I would never ask you to stay in one," Morgase assured him in a firm tone. "But you, your companion, and your family are a complete mystery to us. Not just your means of arrival but where you come from. Your culture, your history. You can see why it would be unwise of us to simply toss you out the front door. Nor do I believe it would be the best course of action to lock you away in the palace dungeon, no matter what my advisors counsel."

Michael frowned as he looked around the room, Morgase could see his mind working, racing to figure a way out. She knew he could easily fight his way past her guards, Elaida couldn't hold him with air, and there was too much risk of injuring others if she used the power in a more offensive manner, not that Michael knew that. Elaida would do it, she seldom saw people as anything other then stones on a board.

"Your word," Michael said suddenly cutting through the slight murmur of the nobles present. "We stay here, do this whole cultural exchange thing and my family won't be harmed?"

"Watch your tongue," Bryne snapped. "You speak to Queen Morgase, ruler of Andor, not some tavern sla—"

"I could care less if she was Pope and President rolled into one," Michael said cutting Bryne off. "First thing you're gonna learn about where I'm from, is we speak our mind and tell it like it is and if you don't like it too bad. Where we're from our government guarantees our freedom of speech, our freedom to assemble, our freedom to protest anything we like including our government right in front of the Capital Building. Where we're from ordinary citizens elect the people in the government, our senators and congressmen, even the President. Six hundred million people all getting together to chose our leaders… And the best part about the whole thing is if they do something wrong they're still punished under the law same as everyone else. We can oust our leaders if they do something illegal or unethical. You can call that your lesson for today."

* * *

The bitter wind cut through the black duster, the heavy leather did little to protect the man's already cold flesh. The sun was an angry ball that hung low in the west. It was weak and provided little warmth.

Spike grumbled as he rolled over, his hand plopping messily into something cold and wet. With a grimace he forced his eyes open and flinched back at the feel of sunlight on his face. The prickly heat along his flesh that accompanied the forgotten sensation didn't occur like normal. It didn't take Spike long to figure out why; the sun hanging like a ball just waiting to fall below the snow capped mountains far to the west wasn't the blazing yellow he's seen everyday of his life. It was a blistering red, swollen and mean.

"Bloody," he growled as he rolled onto his back, arms thrown wide. "Brilliant you jerked up wanker." His hand delved into a deep pocket and groped his pack of cigarettes. "Slayer must have finally had enough of your sorry ass…" Fingers made contact with cellophane wrapped cardboard. "…couldn't bring herself to stake a harmless little nit like yourself so she has red dump your fangless excuse for a fiend off in some out of the hell dimension." He pulled the pack out, then had to rummage around for his lighter. "Just when you gotta go and get yourself all infatuated with the bint."

Finding his lighter he plucked it out of another pocket and quickly lit the cigarette. He inhaled deeply, allowing the smoke to calm him. For the moment—since there was nothing else for him to do—he enjoyed the warmth of the alien sun—weak as it was—on his face and tried to relax.

He wasn't very successful.

Images of Buffy kept crashing wildly in the tumultuous landscape of his mind. Some of them were real, fights they had over the years even that day they had been engaged; he could still feel the Slayer's legs squeezing tight around his waist. He was going to kill Willow once he got back, no vampire should have to suffer like he has. Others were pure fantasy. Madness he would have said weeks ago. A product of him being chipped, kept captive, like some puppy dog forced to lick at its masters hand for a bit of affection, a perfect example of Stockholm Syndrome. He should have gotten the bloody hell out of Sunnydale when the getting was good and stayed away no matter how much he wanted to paint the town with the Slayer's blood.

He wasn't in love with the Bloody Slayer, no matter how many dreams he's had about her. That she pervaded his every thought was in no way indicative of his feelings, or even if it was it was his frustration being twisted around into this unnatural infatuation. Maybe being trapped wherever he was trapped wasn't such a bad thing, it would give him time to settle his feelings for the Slayer in his own mind, purge them once and for all, before he would be forced to deal with her.

Satisfied with his resolution Spike crushed out his spent cigarette in the frozen marsh he was lying in and paused, sniffing the air. Somebody else was sharing this little patch of the world with him. He concentrated, getting as much information as he could while twisting up to his knees. Not more then twenty-five feet from him a young girl lay sprawled out on the icy marsh. Her breathing was shallow, but he couldn't smell blood. A simple white dress covered her small waifish body, a soft tan darkened her otherwise cream like skin, a wreath of interlocking white flowers rested around her head and made a stark contrast to her lustrous, raven black hair. A simple band of gold circled her ring finger.

"Pity the bastard," Spike grumbled feeling a spark of kinship to whoever had lost this dark haired diamond. He knelt down next to the girl and put his hand to her flesh and mumbled, "Hell," to no one but himself. There wasn't a lick of difference between her temperature and his. It was frigid when he had expected something closer to glowing amber.

The cold didn't bother him, it didn't bother any vampire. While he preferred seventy and cloudy it didn't mean much of anything, he spent the majority of the last three or four years in California where the weather was always ninety and sunny.

He could leave her. No one would ever know. She'd probably just slip away without ever regaining consciousness. A small copse of trees wasn't that far off, no more then a mile or two and while he wasn't much of a woodsman he could probably construct some sort of lean to for the girl, even dig a decent fire pit. Maybe rustle up a bit of dinner, if there were enough trees to be called a forest or even woods, then there had to be things that lived in them. "Bloody puffed up natter…" He mumbled bundling the girl up in his coat as he scooped her up.

* * *

Bearlon was a squat town surrounded by a twenty foot high log palisade with wooden watch towers scattered randomly along its length. The sun glinted weakly of slate and tile shingles. Narrow dirt streets, barely wide enough for two wagons abreast, carved their way through warehouses and the occasional high wooden fence.

Min didn't really care for Bearlon, truth was she rather hated the town. It was always dirty; dust when it was dry and when it rained the mud was so thick you thought it was trying to suck you under. During the winter, from the time the first snows fall until the trails opened back up with the spring thaw, Bearlon was all but abandoned. The only people in town were the ones that lived there year round. Once the snows melted Bearlon was flooded with miners that had just spent those months with none but each other for company; they smell, they were fouled tempered, they drank in excessive amounts, and were a bit too free with their hands.

Despite the recent influx of miners and a bit of crowding at the Stag and Lion, Min found herself with a bit of unexpected free time… Not that she was complaining, she was glad to be out of the inn for a little while, something that went against her normal grain. Most often she stayed inside, around as few people as she could get away with and still keep her job, preferably people she's known for some months now.

Today though, Min had felt this need to be someplace else. She couldn't really explain it, not even to herself, it was simply a desire to be out. It had started in the morning, an itch right behind her eye and had just gotten worse all day long. To the point where she considered plucking her eyes from their sockets, but Min had the distinct impression taking such an action wouldn't have accomplished anything other then blinding her.

It was as if something was calling to her.

And she didn't much care for it.

Somehow she found herself looking down upon the main road from a small second story store room window. For the first time all day Min felt like she was right where she belong.

Less then a minute later a young woman, no more then a girl, stumbled out of the alley across the street, but Min barely saw her. Overshadowing everything about her was a hazy, indistinct almost translucent patch of darkness; infinitely small yet monstrously huge, if it unfurled its massive bulk Bearlon would be crushed under the creature's heel. The air itself seemed to frost over, the light appeared to shrink away, as if were afraid to come close to the darkness. Min sensed that whatever it was, it was somehow contained within the girl as it moved and flexed, testing the limits of its prison.

As if it knew it was being watched it lifted what Min thought was its head in a rolling sort of motion. Her skin suddenly felt as if was being peeled from her body with a dull knife as a quartet of angry red lights blossomed within the darkness. As if seeing her was a spur it suddenly uncoiled, lightening flashing across the sky seemed slow; long, massive arms that rippled with inhuman muscles reached toward her, taloned fingers sought to rend flesh; its maw gaped wide, impossibly wide, as twin mandibles swung open revealing row upon row of spiraling teeth descending into the dark pit. Each one was the size of a large man.

With a startled yell Min threw herself across the room and stayed hunkered down, hands covering her head as she waited for the beast to rip the building to shreds. There was no use trying to run from it; it would find her no matter where she hid.

Only a minute passed and nothing had happened. Cautiously Min moved back to the window and peeked out. She expected to see that awful, inhuman face hovering just under the window.

It wasn't. It was gone. Nothing of it remained.

The girl was still there, looking less confused then a moment ago, seemed more focused and Min used the moment to get her first good look of her; dark hair was raven black and fell in luxuriant waves past her shoulders. Like herself, she wore a man's coat and breeches, but the style and material of her clothes was like nothing she has ever seen before. Coat and breeches alike were black as her hair, and they were made of leather with bits of metal here and there, and the sun glinted off their surface. It was possibly she was from some far off district, but Min didn't think so.

She was looking up and down the street as if seeing it for the first time and she definitely didn't like the view. Her right hand tightened on the hilt of a wickedly curved dagger. Blood stained the blade.

Min saw other things around the girl, images that hadn't been there earlier, or they had been somehow submerged by the apparition. Min wasn't sure. There were so many images flashing around the girl Min had a hard time keeping track of them. The one image that remained was the face of a blonde girl—light to this girl's darkness. The two were connected in some way Min didn't understand; closer then sisters, more intimate then lovers.

She hadn't seen so many images from any one person since the Aes Sedai Morainne and her Warder Lan left more then a week ago. Their type always had images.

The girl seemed to sense the scrutiny from above and looked up, dark eyes zeroing on Min. If possible they hardened even more and Min swallowed. They were more frightening then the apparitions for the intelligence gleaming in them.

She stepped forward, right into the path of four Whitecloaks. Words were exchanged, heated words that made those nearby anxious to be elsewhere. Whatever was said caused things to escalate rapidly, it was like watching a horseless carriage careening wildly down a hill. Min wished she could hear what was being said, but she was too far away. Whatever the girl was saying certainly had the Whitecloaks incensed; their faces were purple with rage and their eyes seemed about ready to pop from their skulls. Hands that normally hovered close to sword hilts were suddenly gripping them as if they were the only piece of reality left for them to cling to.

Their leader, the only still capable of forming intelligent speech responded to the raven hair girl. She smirked at whatever he said and between one heartbeat and the next she struck, her right fist slammed into the side of his head hard enough that his knees sagged. Instead of falling to the ground like a sack of discarded potatoes the girl hooked the fingers of her left hand under his breastplate, spun and hurled him clear across the street with one arm as if he weighed next to nothing. He crashed against the wall and fell to the ground with a clatter.

People who had wanted to be elsewhere at the start of the confrontation abandoned decorum and fled at the display of inhuman strength, scattering like startled quail. Min couldn't have agreed more, unfortunately she found herself rooted to the spot watching the girl fight, not that it was much of a fight. The other Whitecloaks were unconscious before any came close to unsheathing their swords. For the first time Min noticed the girl's dagger was no where to be seen, that it had disappeared sometime before the Whitecloaks arrived and she hadn't seen what happened to it.

Without hesitation the girl quickly rifled through the prone Whitecloaks, relieving them of their pouches, along with sword belts, and whatever other valuables she came across. She slung the sword belts over her shoulder and then glanced back up at Min and smiled.

With a startled yelp Min bolted from the window and raced down the back stairs. She should have run the first chance she had, while the fight was taking place, she couldn't believe she had been so stupid. If she remembered correctly a fence ran along the back of several buildings so the brunette would have to go the long way around. It would take her time, time Min would use affecting her escape.

Watching the girl fight Min came to understand just what the apparition meant and her blood ran cold. Someway, somehow the essence of that horrific creature had been bound to the girl imbuing her with a portion or maybe even all of its awesome and terrifying might which would explain how she could toss about four Whitecloaks as if they were stuffed dolls. The girl obviously enjoyed fighting and she was very good at it.

After nearly a minute of twisting and turning through the narrow alleys Min came to a stop gasping for breath. Leaning against the wall Min came up with a suitable plan; go back to the Stag and Lion and never come out again. Her chest heaved rhythmically as she sucked in great gulps of air, she was as used to physical labor as anyone, but had never seen much point in running. The muscles burned from her spontaneous exertions. Bent over with her hands on her knees Min was considering revising that opinion.

A slim, ivory handled dagger blossomed in the ground at her feet. Muscles that, a moment ago, had been screaming for rest were tense as her head swiveled this way and that trying to find the girl, only she was no where to be seen.

Her foot barely twitched and a voice from above advised against it saying, "I wouldn't."

Min looked up and there she was, crouched easily on the corner of a slate tiled roof. If she felt any discomfort at being more then thirty feet above the ground she hid it well. The stolen swords rested easily across her knees and there was a speculative gleam in her eyes as she casually flipped a second dagger in her left hand. Naked steel slapped menacingly against her flesh.

"If you run, I'd be forced to…" she paused and Min was sure it was for dramatic affect. Gleeman did it all the time. "Throwing daggers, it's a real crapshoot. Once it leaves your hand, there's no telling where it's gonna go. Be a shame if you were to spend the rest of your life walking with a limp… If you could walk at all?"

Min didn't know much about throwing daggers, but she didn't believe for a single second that this girl would hit anything other then what she wanted. "I'm not going to run," Min assured her captor.

"Well that's good," the girl said standing. The dagger disappeared into its sheath, then she stepped forward off the edge of the roof and dropped casually to the ground. "People tend to hold it against me when I stick knives in them."

"Does that happen often?" Min asked. It wasn't until the words left her mouth that she heard what she said. She didn't think agitating the brunette was the smartest thing to be doing at the moment.

For an instant, as she slipped the sword belts over her shoulder, deep regret lit her face, but it was gone the next moment, buried under a layer of rubble it would take an army of Ogier to dig back up. "More'n you'd expect." She stepped forward covering several feet with quick purposeful steps and put herself well within Min's personal space.

Min tried not to cringe away from her, knowing that creature she saw earlier was contained inside this girl. She was on edge, wanting to scream, her heart was pounding, beating faster then she can ever remember. Her skin felt prickly.

"Don't worry," she said with an insidious smile as she plucked the dagger from the ground, "I won't bite." She stood up, practically sliding up Min's body. Less then an inch separated the two girls; the one leaned in close, her breathe hot on Min's flesh as she whispered, "Unless you want me to." There was a promise in those words that Min never wanted fulfilled.

The girl laughed suddenly, a rich, robust sound that was so different from just a moment ago. She backed up chuckling to herself. "You need to relax girlfriend. Find yourself some stud to pop that cork."

Her tone left little doubt as to what her innuendo meant. Min's cheeks bloomed like a spring flower and she floundered for some kind of retort.

"And I thought B was easy to get flustered," she mumbled with a small disbelieving shake of her head. Becoming more serious she caught Min's eyes and for a moment the walls she hide behind flickered and Min could see just how young she was; at least half a dozen years younger then herself. The second passed and the walls were back up, as high and unbreachable as before. "Look I'm sorry about before… I wasn't gonna hurt you or nothing. It's just… I think I'm really, really lost here and could use someone to play tour guide." Sensing Min's hesitation she added, "You don't have anything to fear from me. That thing with those assholes, religious fanatics have always set my teeth on edge… Never heard that line before, repent and walk in the light…" A mischievous smile lit her face as she continued, "Guess he didn't like where I told him he could shove his light—"

Min listened to the girl with a growing realization, while she didn't understand most of her references—Mother Superior, Jehovah's Witnesses, and Born Again Christians—Min none-the-less paid rapt attention to what she was saying, how she was saying it. But one thought kept bubbling to the top of Min's mind, _She doesn't know_.

"So how about it?" She asked, a hopeful smile lighting her face. "Take a couple days, give me the lowdown, the full four one one?"

"Someday, I may understand what you just said."

"I'm Faith," she said.

"Min," Min answered.

Faith quirked a little grin at her and in a voice full of cocky arrogance she said, "Hang with me long enough Min and you'll be the only cool person in this town. Other then me," she added and Min had to wonder if the bluster was Faith or something added by that other.

* * *

Morgase sat in silence, the faces of her two most trusted advisors masked in shocked with the news she had just delivered, though Elaida's was more contemplative as if she were trying to decipher some tricksome riddle.

"It's impossible," Bryne muttered darkly as he paced. He stopped, turning to face Morgase and declared, "It's a trick of some kind. Somehow the girl deceived you. Showed you some sort of vision, something designed to entice you to keep them close so when they're ready to strike." He smashed his fist into the palm of his hand making a loud smacking sound.

Morgase wanted to throttle the man, but managed to hold her temper in check, but there was no disguising the irritation in her voice as she asked, "And somehow manage to have everyone act as he or she might have under similar circumstances?"

"It is possible, with the power, to achieve such a feat. If it had been the girl working the power, then I would have seen the weaving and it would have to be the girl, this Ava. I've only studied the man for a moment—" Elaida paused with a frown, picked up her tea filled porcelain cup and took a sip. She looked into the dark surface. "He may have the strength of a thousand men, move with speed like lightening and be impervious to steel forged by men. So far he shows no indication of being able to channel the power. Even Ava shows little aptitude for learning to embrace Saidar." She reached into her pouch and removed a gemstone, a finely cut emerald and held it out saying, "She did, however, provide me with a small demonstration of her power." It had been more then half a day and the girl claimed to have regained little of her strength, even now she was still abed. The emerald was about the limit of what she could do right now.

Bryne snorted as he asked, "What could be so special about a simple emerald?" While taking the gemstone from Elaida.

"Nothing," Elaida answered as Bryne studied the green stone. "Except that it is one of almost thirty that used to be paring knife." Bryne's eyes widened in astonishment but Elaida barely seemed to notice as she continued. "Ava wasn't embracing the power. There were no weaves, nothing that I could sense. One moment the knife was a knife, the next cut gemstones sat on the table, a few rolling over the edge before an unseen force caught them and returned them to the table."

"And what did you do with the rest?" Morgase inquired.

"I kept a few to study, compare against normal gemstones. The rest I left with Ava. I didn't see any harm in leaving them with the girl. If she truly wanted out of the Palace she would leave and I very much doubt she would need to bribe your guards in order to accomplish it."

* * *

The smell was the first thing that broke through and pulled Liz back towards wakefulness. It was the sharp smell of wood mixed with roasting meat of some kind. She twisted in her sleep addled state knocking the heavy blanket that covered her off; a bitterly cold dampness was more then eager to replace the blanket and she shivered at its touch bringing her most of the way from her slumber. Instinctively she grabbed the blanket and wrapped herself back in its warmth. She breathed deeply, frowning slightly at the blankets odd aroma. It smelt of harsh tobacco and hard liquor, and of blood… Old and new. It was steeped in the heavy leather.

She frowned slightly as her eyes continued to adjust to the dimness. She was outdoors, of that she was positive. The only light, dim as it was, filtered in past her feet. To her left a thick layer of branches had been lashed together forming a nearly solid wall. Someone had constructed a similar wall above her head while the thick bole of a massive tree to her right formed the third wall to her primitive hut.

It was obvious someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to build a shelter for her. A stranger if the heavy duster was anything to go by. One of her friends taking care of her wouldn't have left her with the chill that settled in the pit of her stomach, but a complete stranger; it was like knowing a voyeur was stalking your neighborhood.

Suddenly she became aware that the light seeping into the lean to had vanished. She shifted her weight, leaning on her left elbow her right hand pointing directly at the shelter's angled opening. A dark shape hovered there and she could sense hungry eyes roaming over her and she tensed. Whoever was out there hadn't made the slightest sound.

"Unless you got yourself a shotgun hidden up some magic sleeve, you might want to put that hand down. A person might take offense. 'Specially after they went to all the trouble of making you this neat shelter."

Of all the things she had expected to hear, a rough cockney accent would have been far down the list. The voice was friendly enough, but there was an edge to it. A sort of dark playfulness.

"Who are you?" Liz demanded, keeping her voice hard. She wasn't about to let him worm his way into her good graces. No matter what he had done to help her.

He sighed, almost sadly as he shifted giving her a slightly better view of him. He was wearing a pitch black T-Shirt; the cloth was a stark contrast to his skin which was almost creamer white. His hair was bright white and looked like he had dunked his head in a ten gallon vat of peroxide. It put her in mind of Billy Idol.

"Name's Spike. My friends—" He stopped abruptly and gave a short bark of a laugh before saying, "Who the bloody hell am I trying to kid. Ain't never had much use for friends, my minions called me Master. You wouldn't want to be a minion?"

Liz stared at him trying to decipher what he said, and not because she had to concentrate simply to understand his accent. What she could make out had Liz gawking at him, questions about his sanity swirling in her mind. She could feel his smile, sense his mirth, but neither assuaged her concerns.

He stood up with an effortless sort of ease saying, "Come on girlie, didn't catch dinner just so it could go to ash while you try an' squeeze in a few more hours of beauty sleep. Wouldn't do you a lick of good anyway," he called out over his shoulder.

It took Liz a moment to wriggle out of the shelter; the flickering flames cast dancing shadows in the sheltered clearing. The ground was hard as frozen rock and patches of snow covered a good bit of it. A small area around the fire pit had been cleared of snow, or perhaps the heat from the fire, god only knew she wouldn't mind soaking up as much warmth as possible, had melted it. A pair of small animals; rabbit or squirrel or something else that had been equally furry and cuddly, were spit over the fire. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what kind of animals, the aroma of roasting meat had reminded her it had been quite some time since her last meal. While her stomach turned at the sight of seeing something that had been alive until very recently, hunger gnawed at her. Not an avid meat eater, she still enjoyed a nice juicy hamburg from time to time, just so long as it came on a bun with lettuce and tomatoes and cheese melting all over and looked nothing like the animal it used to be and she didn't have to watch the cow being slaughter or the rest of the process that turned it into ground beef.

"Go ahead," Spike said from where he was lounging against the trunk of a fallen tree. His eyes were closed and he almost looked as if he were sleeping; only that wasn't quite right. "It'll just go to waste otherwise." Despite the freezing temperatures Spike made no attempt to reclaim his jacket, a fact Liz was all too grateful for.

"Aren't you having any?" Liz asked squatting next to the fire. She held her hands out trying to soak up all the heat she could.

He smiled at her as his eyes crept open. "Had my fill earlier." His eyes seemed to laugh with some sort of hidden mirth.

Cautiously Liz reached out and took hold of a wooden spit. It was warm to the touch making it moderately uncomfortable to handle as she tore off a chunk of meat. She sniffed at it as if that would give her any clue as to what type of animal it had been. With a tentative nibble she bit into the roasted flesh and much to her surprise she found it far better then she had expected. It was actually very good. "This isn't that bad," she said taking a larger bite. "What is it?" She asked around a mouth full of meat.

Again that half smile twinkled in his eyes. "It's probably best if you don't linger on it too much," he suggested gravely.

Liz swallowed what was in her mouth and forced herself to take another bite even though what appetite she once had had fled with his words. Her stomach tightened with queasiness. She forced herself to take yet another bite.

"We should sketch out some sort of plan. Figure out what we're gonna do come morning," Spike suggested.

Liz swallowed what was in her mouth and said, "What we should do is pick a direction and start walking until we come across some sort road. Either way a road will lead us towards civilization."

Spike closed his eyes, gave his beached blonde head a subtle shake. "By definition that's a plan." Again there was that mocking quality in his voice. It was quickly becoming a bur under her skin.

"If I had my cell…" She murmured wishfully.

"Been meaning to ask you about that," Spike said as he sat up a little, reached behind him and pulled out a small pouch. "What kind of honeymoon you expect to have bringing this along?" He added tossing the pouch to her.

Liz blew out a disgruntle breath as she caught the small purse. "This isn't even the worse," she said pulling the cell phone out. "Try dragging along your sister-in-law, plus your best friend, your husband's best friend, and just for that little bit extra awkwardness, add in ex-boyfriend."

"Yours or his?" Liz shot Spike a withering glare which rolled off him like water on a vertical surface. "Kinky," he smirked.

"What the hell?" Liz mumbled with a frown. She held the phone up as if it was the condemning piece of evidence. "This was a full battery," she accused; her dark eyes glittered in the dancing firelight.

A shadow, or a darker piece of darkness seemed to flicker, coalesce into a black shape. It seemed to seep out of the deep shadows in the form of a tall man dressed in sinuous black armor of overlapping plates. Its cloak and armor were darker then black, like pitch, a dull absence of light. The cowl of its cloak was thrown back revealing a man's eyeless face, smooth, pasty white flesh that had never seen a solitary second of daylight.

Liz could feel its gaze despite its lack of eyes. Her stomach curdled as if she had just drunk a gallon of milk that had sat in the sun for three days. She wanted to tear her gaze off that eyeless face; she would have an easier time ripping the flesh from her own skull. In that gaze was all the hatred in the world, hatred for humans and humanity.

Hatred for her.

Its gaze shifted off her and settled on the back of Spike's head; it had only been on her for an instant yet she felt like she'd wallowed in a sewer for a year or more. It felt as if her face had just been peeled off a red hot skillet. She could still feel its overwhelming hatred, but it was a distant thing now.

Even before Liz shouted, "Behind you," in a voice that was no more audible then a hoarse whisper, Spike was already alert. Her fear was like the rumble of thunder on a clear day. It had come from nowhere, simply flashed into existence. It was rich; a robust bouquet to the vampire's sensitive palate, reminding him that he was a vampire. That while it was blood that sustained him, fear was its sweet ambrosia.

The expression on Liz's face, the extreme terror written there twisted his guts. He hadn't known Liz long, minutes really, but he could easily superimpose Dawn's face and that was a look he never wanted to see on the Platelet.

Spike whirled to his feet in one smooth motion, turning to face the inhuman, nearly human man that had slipped out of the shadows. It happened so quickly that Liz didn't see Spike move. One instant he was lounging against a fallen tree trunk, the next his back was to her.

The creature was gripping its sword hilt as if it was the only thing keeping it from plummeting over the side of a cliff. "Human," it spit out in a dry hiss like snake scales sliding against each other, "what are you?"

If Liz didn't know better she would say fear laced its voice; as if it wanted the answers, yet didn't even more.

Spike took one step forward and the creature bared an inch of its black blade. "Your darkness, it calls to me. It sings, it burns in my veins. Shai'tan swallow you human," it cursed with its sword leaping from its scabbard with a thirsty rasp. It flowed forward in one sinuous movement, its armors overlapping plates enhancing its snake like movement.

Spike didn't move and for a moment Liz thought he was trapped like she had been only that didn't feel right. He seemed too relaxed. In a blink, too fast for Liz to react the creature was upon Spike, black blade sliding though Spike's gut.

Liz gasped at the sudden violence and raised her right hand but Spike still stood in her way, as if the creature had done nothing more violent then giving him a tight embrace. Casually, as if the sword through his guts was no bother at all, Spike back handed the creature sending it sprawling to the frozen ground. He pulled the sword out of his body and then slammed it half way through the tree trunk he had been lounging against.

Turning his attention back toward the creature Spike said, "You and me are gonna have ourselves a serious discussion about pointing swords at people." He stalked toward the fallen creature; there was something primal and predatory about Spike. The creature pushed itself away from Spike, scrambling through the frozen mud. Its flight lasted until it bumped against the base of a towering tree. Spike reached down and hauled the creature up, holding it against the tree with one hand. The creature wrapped both hands around Spike's forearm but couldn't budge the limb. One of its hands shot out grabbing hold of Spike's throat and squeezing for all it was worth, but that hardly seemed to bother Spike as he said, "You can seriously injure somebody. Maybe even poke out an eye," he added almost contemplatively before his left hand casually reached out toward the creature's head. It shifted all of its attention to stopping that arm, thrashing its head about; punching and kicking at Spike, but all of its attempts were in vain as Spike grabbed the creature's head and held it steady.


	4. Prologue: Land of Confusion Part Four

Prologue: Land of Confusion—Part Four

The long train of wagons, tall wooden boxes, almost like house on wheels, painted in bright colors, snaked its way through the rolling hills. Music filled the air, an odd assortment of instruments made a strange sort of harmony; it was a lively up-tempo beat that had those walking alongside the wagons practically dancing.

The people were in good spirits despite the cold that hung on in spite of the spring's rapid approach. Their clothing was as bright and as mismatched as their wagons, seemingly chosen at random and with little concern for the discomfort to a person's eye they caused. It seemed each person was trying to remind the world what spring looked like.

Except for the very old or the very young, who rode on the wagons, everybody else walked along besides the brightly colored boxes on wheels. If spring had yet to come to the world it could still be found in these colorfully dressed people; their steps were light, almost buoyant, as if they were constantly on the verge of dancing. Children ran between the wagons, playing with huge dogs the size of small ponies. For all the rough play and romping, the pulled tails and pinched ears the dogs remained passive, accepting of it all.

As the wagon train wound its way across the valley floor the lead wagon, a yellow box trimmed in red; the spokes of its tall red rimmed wheels alternated red and yellow, slowed to a stop. The wiry frame, grey haired driver spotted an unusual sight this far from civilization. A trio of young people stood in the middle of the valley floor, two were holding a heated debate with each other while the third stood a little ways apart. She was tall and of the three was the only one who seemed to be dressed for the cold with a heavy green jacket that hung to her knees, and a large black bag sat on the ground by her feet. Her pale brown hair fluttered in the wind and while she seemed to be paying close attention to the argument taking place she was also the first to spot the wagon train headed in their direction.

The second woman was an average height, but with a solid build. Her luxuriant black hair was raven dark—a couple shades darker then his black locks—and fell in thick waves well past her shoulders. He was taller then both women but she wore heavy black boots that were laced up the front and added several inches to her height; her pants were loose fitting, a mesh of dark forest green and lighter desert brown were tucked into her boot tops. Her black shirt wouldn't even be considered decent small clothes; it was tucked into her waistband and was snug around her torso but left her arms and neckline bare exposing a small expanse of her cleavage.

His shoes, if they were shoes, were white and laced up the front. His pants, like his coat, was black, but the pants looked like woven canvass while his coat was made of something else; it wasn't leather, though it did look a good deal like it, but it had a shine.

The older of the two girls, the one with the brown hair, said something to her companions and their argument stopped. The raven haired girl twisted her head around, she blinked owlishly, then gave her head a shake as if unable to believe what her dark eyes were seeing. The man's gaze followed hers and he said something that she apparently didn't want to hear as she silenced him with a gesture. She said something back and he shrugged indifferent to her response. The other girl said something trying to sooth down whatever rough edges there were.

The other wagons began gathering behind the lead wagon in a small cluster as children and adults as well as a good number of dogs formed up around the house on wheels. Raen quickly scrambled down from his perch as the strangers approached. The trio barely looked at each other as they marched towards the wagons.

They stopped a few paces short of the traveling village and exchanged wary glances. Silence hung like a heavy frost over the assembled group; waiting, anticipating the sharp crack of thunder. After a moment the grey haired man stepped forward and bowed, pressing both hands to his chest, and although he wasn't quite certain of it, he said, "You are welcome to our fires. Do you know the song?"

* * *

Max frowned in thought, then glanced at Max. He had thought his life had been as strange as it could get and it was, but he doubted there was anything that would have prepared him for waking up in the middle of the wilderness on an unknown world next to a pair of women, one a twenty year old, raven haired woman who happened to share his first name and the other a twenty five year old who unlike him was dressed for the weather. His jacket, made of imitation leather, was fine for right now, but it was the middle of the day without a single cloud in sight. He was positive it was going to get a lot colder once the sun went down. He was fortunate enough that he didn't have to worry about any of that, if it became necessary he could regulate the temperature in his immediate area.

He didn't know what to make of it, discovering that this alien world was inhabited by humans and that they spoke English. It was sort of like watching an old episode of Star Trek, where Native Americans or Mid-Western gangsters populated alien worlds and spoke perfect English. He started to think that maybe Max was right and some ultra secret government agency had captured them; that right now, in the real world, they were in fact hooked up to a vast array of sophisticated monitoring machines while their minds functioned in a matrix like environment. Only that didn't feel right to him. It might be because of his hybrid nature or some alien intuition, but he knew this world was real. As real as the one he planned to return to.

Managing a fair imitation of the older man's bow he said, "We appreciate your generosity." The statement was sincere; he really did appreciate the offer so long as it was sincere. "But I'm afraid I don't know what song you're looking for—"

"But maybe if you hum a few bars," Max suggested with a dry sarcasm. The eyes of everyone around went wide, faces paled or turned red and more then a few shocked gasp filled the air. It was clear her words had offended a good many people present.

Max didn't understand what was so important about a song, but he knew offending the only people they've encountered so far was not the smartest thing to do and shot a dark glare in her direction, hoping she would pick up on his meaning and keep her mouth shut and let him handle the diplomacy. "Excuse my associate," he started, his voice was stern and most there understood it was said more for her benefit then anyone else's. "The last few hours have been difficult…"

Max snorted at his choice of words and shook her head. Difficult was having to juggle the Alec drama with the Joshua situation while balancing work and Logan. Being transported, by unknown means to a possible alien world was so far beyond difficult as to make it look like rainbows and cupcakes.

"You wouldn't, by any chance, happen to know where we are?" Max knew it was quite possible the lamest question he could have asked, but it had to be asked.

"We have maps, if that will help," the old man offered. He looked around the valley, his eyes sparkled in the early afternoon sun. "This looks like a good spot to make camp." He turned to those around him and said, "Tell the others, we'll make camp here."

"You don't have to alter your plans for us," Max said quickly. The maps would be a great help, but he didn't want to inconvenience these people, especially if they were willing to so helpful.

The old man's smile was like a warming breeze. "You must truly be from a far way off indeed," he said with a chuckle. "The horses could surely use a break, they've spent all day pulling our homes and this is as good a spot as any we've come across, better then some. Besides, I have to admit I'm a little curious as to what could strand three people in this wilderness without them knowing where they are."

"You probably won't believe us," Max told him.

The old man's smile never faltered as he said, "The wheel weaves as the wheel wills." It had the sound of something said by rote, and just a little too fatalistic for either Max. Even Alexa seemed a little concerned. "I am Raen, Mahdi to this band of Tuatha'an."

"Max Evans," Max replied extending his right hand. Raen accepted the offered hand with only a brief moment of hesitation.

"Alexa Bond," she said extending her hand as well.

Raen accepted her hand more easily then he had Max's noting the girl's thin frame, hollowed cheeks, and dark circles under her eyes. There was concern etched in his eyes and he wondered if the girl was perhaps ill.

"Max Guerva," Max said offering the older man her hand.

"Come," Raen said accepting her hand. "Let me introduce you to my wife Ila," he continued leading them into the camp. As they moved forward Max hesitated, eyeing the dogs warily. Raen noticed and mistook her pause for apprehension and said, "There's no need to fear the dogs. They've been trained according to the way of the leaf."

"It's not fear," Max assured him. "Dogs just don't like me."

"Truly," Raen said with a frown, but as he took a closer look even he could see the wariness in the dogs as they watched her.

"It's a hereditary thing," Max shrugged. "I'm more of a cat person."

* * *

Alec was an average sized man with short cropped dirty blond hair that had been allowed to grow out in recent months. His ice blue eyes could charm the devil himself. His pants were standard issue BDUs in forest camouflage with the cuffs tucked into calf high boots that were laced up tight. He was thankful for the warmth the drab olive colored knit sweater provided.

He lazed against the thin bole of a fir tree. Negligently he kept five pebbles of varying shapes and sizes in the air, spinning in an oblong circle. As one stone fell he tossed another into the air then caught the other before it came close to hitting the ground. On and on the cycle repeated itself. He looked like a man who had more important things he could be doing, but would be damned before he actually found a reason to do one.

His companion though was the exact opposite; nearly point for point. Even though he was standing still, it was a stillness that hinted at sudden violence and seemed on the verge of constant action. His amber eye stare was hot enough to set the forest ablaze. They were a stark contrast to the coolness of his inky black flesh and long ash white hair. His cloak was a dark brown that would just about fade into any patch of darkness. The rest of the clothes were of dark hues; browns and greens and blues. A pair of heavy bladed scimitars hung at his waist, a quiver full of arrows stuck up over his shoulder and Alec was sure there were any number of other weapons secreted about his personage

"Do you mind? You're really making tired with all that fidgeting," Alec mumbled.

Drizzt frowned at the young man. The word Drow meant nothing to him, while Elf simply made him chuckle. It was strange to meet a human that didn't fear or distrust him; a human that had no inkling of the atrocities the Drow people have committed through the long years was an impossibility. Or so he had thought.

He didn't mind resting or waiting, unless there was something urgent that needed tending and right now learning where he was and how he came to be here required immediate attention. Only Alec's plan had made sense as well. A few hours, even half a day and night could save days in delay if they chose the wrong direction.

They had made their camp, if it could be called that, off a broad road, as wide as any on Abeir-Toril; enough for at least eight wagons abreast, which meant that at one end there would be a city of some substance. From the tracks the last several weeks had seen an increase in travel, which was an indication they were near the tail end of winter, still the weather would have to warm significantly for trade and travel to resume what he was assuming was heavy traffic.

Drizzt doubted if he would have heard of any city connected to this road, while the sun was an angry red ball, that was where the similarities ended between it and the star that warmed Abeir-Toril. This sun was significantly smaller and barely seemed capable of providing sufficient warmth.

"Another couple of hours," Alec said in a slightly offhand manner before adding, "or there abouts."

For all the indifference he displayed Drizzt suspected Alec was just as impatient as himself, yet the young human had been trained as a soldier. Trained so well that the cold was little more then an afterthought to him, if that. The one time he spoke of his past his words had been edged with a mocking bitterness. Enough that Drizzt found himself slightly intrigued by Alec; at what could have caused one so young to be so jaded. In human years Alec wasn't that young, older then Cattabrie and Wulfgar when he first meant them. Drizzt would wager Alec had seen twenty years under his planets sun.

"Any family?" Alec asked suddenly. Drizzt thought it was more to hear himself talk then to dig vital information out of him. "Friends?" He continued before Drizzt had a chance to answer the first part. "Anybody that's actually going to notice you're missing."

"A few friends," Drizzt answered slowly, before hedging slightly by adding, "in time. Possibly. Or they may assume the wilderness claimed me.

Alec grimaced slightly as he said, "Pretty harsh."

"Abeir-Toril is mostly untamed wilderness with few cities of any note. City or wild one must take extreme care. Death comes swiftly to the unawares."

"And you've probably made your fair share of enemies?"

It wasn't quite a question but Drizzt still answered, "There are a few that will smile fondly at the news of my demise and raise celebratory flagon or two."

Alec nodded thoughtfully. The simple circle had somehow metamorphed into two; one arching several inches higher then the other. "So when they go looking for you and can't find you, they might assume you've been done in by one of the many enemies you've accumulated over the years?"

"Quite possibly," Drizzt answered.

"Bet they're the type of people who are gonna keep on until they know for sure." Drizzt didn't say anything as it seemed Alec was talking to himself. "Question is whether they can find you and if they can if they'll be able to bring you back?" He looked at Drizzt and frowned slightly before adding, "I know my friends wouldn't be able to do it, and if you're anything to go by I doubt if the technology on your world is anywhere near as advance as mine."

Drizzt squatted easily across from Alec, holding the young man's gaze. "There are those on your world skilled in traversing the higher realms?" Alec simply looked at him, his blue eye gaze never wavered, but Drizzt thought he spotted a hint of skepticism in them. "Converse with those that dwell in the outer planes?"

Alec snorted before saying, "Next you're gonna tell me magic is real? I mean, come on… No offense or anything Drizzt, but have you—" He stopped suddenly, the stones fell to the ground unnoticed. He was on his feet so fast that Drizzt never saw him move. "Something big is coming fast, from the west…" He closed his eyes. "…they're moving at a good clip, long strides. Longer then a person's. Heavy too, like a small horse." He opened his eyes.

Drizzt was already staring up the road; poised on the balls of his feet ready for whatever might be coming. Run or fight.

Alec wasn't sure which.

It was only a minute, a little more before a large shape crested a low rise west of their position. At the distance Drizzt couldn't make out much, but he could tell the solitary figure approaching was more then large, comparable in size to that of an ogre only this creature dressed far better then any ogre Drizzt has ever encountered; from the long coat that reached to his knees with its voluminous pockets, to his heavy boots.

"And I thought Joshua had an ugly mug," Alec mumbled almost too softly for Drizzt's sensitive ears.

Drizzt frowned as he wondered exactly what Alec was. There was magic that could increase a person's senses, but Alec had been an instant from denouncing magic. In the natural order there wasn't a human whose senses could match a Drow's much less exceed them. Alec though had, not just better hearing, but better sight as well.

The creature slowed, a clear indication they had been seen, but he continued to come forward if at a more sedate pace. He seemed more dignified. His nose was broad, yet fit his wide face perfectly. Tufted ears stuck up through a shock of thick black hair, while his eyebrows drooped past his chin framing his face. The creature was twice his height or near enough. His shoulders were broad enough to make an ogre appear lean. Despite his bulk and size he appeared passive; his ears seemed to twitch in a nervous sort of apprehension. Dark eyes the size of teacups settled on Drizzt with an intense curiosity, he took in the Drow's weapons and seemed to consider if coming closer were such a good idea.

Drizzt had no doubt he was trying to decide what his best course of action would be, but his eyes still burned with unsatisfied curiosity. Deciding it was time to see if their luck had improved significantly, Drizzt held up his hands and hoped the stranger would be able to understand the common tongue as Alec had. "We are travelers, lost and seeking directions to the nearest city." He bellowed at the top of his lungs.

A smile split the broad face and he came on just a little faster then before, but nowhere near the trot he had been maintaining when he first came into view. He slowed and came to a stop a few feet in front of them. "We are really lucky you came along Big Fella," Alec started and the creature's ears twitched slightly. "We would've been sitting here all day trying to pick a direction."

Again Drizzt frowned at Alec, the human's tongue was as glib as he suspected. Drizzt had no doubt the man could spin a yarn a mile long about their arrival and searching for guide without ever really telling a shred of truth or actually lying but with everything centered around him.

"Excuse my companion," Drizzt cut in. He kept his voice friendly, yet forceful enough to overwhelm Alec. "He sometimes forgets himself, and the few manners he possess vanish."

"It's quite all right." His voice rumbled like far off thunder, not too far off. Just beyond the next hill, or the one after that. "Elder Hamma is always explaining about how hasty humans are. How they jump about so—" He blinked suddenly, his ears drooping slightly and he gave a short bow to Alec. "Please forgive me. I shouldn't have said that." He straightened saying, "But you do fight all the time. Even when there is no need."

Now Drizzt knew why the creature didn't take as much interest in Alec as him. Humans were known while Drow were not. He now knew one thing about this world he hadn't, and wondered if Alec had picked up on it. He believed so, he showed a quick pair of wits.

Alec waved off the apology, as if embarrassed by it though Drizzt doubted if that was the case. Alec was the type capable of finding an angle most wouldn't even know was there and then be able to squeeze everything he could from it. "No need to apologize for what's true." There was a thoughtfulness in his eyes that hadn't been there a moment before.

"I am Drizzt Do'Urden."

He extended his hand and watched it disappeared inside one that was the size of a large ham. It was accompanied by another bow, this far moor formal then the one previous. "Loial, son of Arent, son of Halan. Your name sings in my ears, Drizzt Do'Urden."

It had the feel of a ritual greeting. Not returning it would be the height of rudeness. "Your name sings in my ears Loial, son of Arent, son of Halan."

Both then turned expectant eyes on Alec. He shrugged indifferently as he mumbled, "Gotta get it over with sooner or later." He extended his hand to Loial and waited for it to be engulfed by one large enough to cover his entire head. A mischievous grin quirked the edges of his lips. "Alec X Five—Four Nine Four, son of Petri Dish." Then he bowed, perfectly imitating Loial's. "Your name sings in my ears Loial, son of Arent, son of Halan."

Loial bowed and said, "Your name sings in my ears Alec X Five—Four Nine Four, son of Petri Dish."

Alec's smile was small, as if he knew secret, some joke, that nobody else did. "Where was it you were going before we waylaid you?"

* * *

There was still an hour or so before the sun disappeared over the horizon far to the west, but the little warmth it provided had fled long ago. A dozen fires burned brightly and the aroma of cooking filled the air; stews and breads and pies, reminding Alexa of how long it's been since she's had anything to eat.

Not far from the fire she had all to herself, a number of Tuatha'an were congregated around Max attempting to replicate one of the King's early chart toppers. From what she could hear they weren't all that bad, making due with an odd assortment of fiddles, harps, and other instruments she had no name for. It was vastly different from what she was used to; guitars and drums and the occasional keyboard.

The ipod Max had produced from inside his coat was a clear indication of the advances in technology in only a ten year period. In ninety-six the only mp she knew was Clint Turner, her little brother's best friend who joined the Army right out of high school. As far as music went CDs were king of the music industry and PnP software had the sound of something parents didn't want their children watching until they'd been living on their own for a dozen years or so.

Max appeared to be a very disinterested observer in the proceedings, his presence was only required to operate the delicate piece of technology. He seemed to have about as much interest in musical arrangements as she had in rebuilding a Four Fifty-Four Chevy large block.

None.

A young boy was paying particular attention to whatever Max was saying as he explained how to operate the ipod. He was nodding at Max's instructions and after several minutes, Max clapped the youngster on the back and stood up, hitching the heavy grey cloak around his shoulders.

It came as a bit of a surprise that this group of brightly clad people possessed one article of clothing in such a drab color. It was even more shocking that there were two as they managed to find a soft brown cloak for the other Max, an offer she had refused at first, but for all these people's talk and claim of being pacifist—followers of this leaf—they hadn't relented for a moment and Max found herself in possession of the cloak. She wore it over one shoulder, just letting it hang there as she entertained a group of children with some juggling, a bit of street corner magic and sleight of hand. The youngsters were eating it up. Even a few of the adults were mesmerized by Max's effortless skill.

"So," Max said as he approached. Alexa slide over a little and Max squatted easily by her side for a moment, simply enjoying the warmth of the small fire. "How you holding up?"

She liked Max. First impression, he was a nice guy, probably too nice and she had her own problems, beside the obvious—stuck on an alien world—to deal with; beside the gold band on his ring finger spoke clearer then any words about his potential availability. If she had been looking, she'd have to look someplace else. It was a little disconcerting that between her and Guevara, she was the one Max decided needed a White Knight. Alexa knew that compared to the brunette she didn't exactly exude confidence, but still she was as capable as the next woman. She grunted sourly knowing she should simply count her blessings that she hadn't ended up here alone and felt an instant jab of bitterness and discord because she was happy other people were in the same situation as her. There was a playful note in her voice as she said, "Could ask you the same question." She may not have the chance of getting him, especially not on her time table, but she wasn't dead just yet. Adam had taught her that.

Max nodded, a slight acknowledgement of the truth in her words. Being stranded on an alien world didn't faze him as much as he thought it should. What did come as a bit of a surprise was how easy the Tuatha'an accepted their story; that people could come from a different world, a world fundamentally the same in so many ways, yet radically different at the same time. "The wheel weaves as the wheel wills," Raen had quoted. Max had a problem with such fatalism. It was sort of like saying, "Let god sort 'em out."

With a little more force then was necessary Alexa poke at the fire with her stick stirring up a few ambers. She had just started enjoying her life. Adam treated her like a queen, an equal while spoiling her outlandishly. She didn't want for anything. The last few weeks, months… Year of her life was going to be the best of her life. Adam had swept her, quite literally, off her feet and was showing her the world, the entire world. Months spent lounging off the Italian coast in a private villa, with day trips here and there. At times it was exhausting, but she wouldn't change a thing.

The best thing about it, she had watched Adam come alive again. Not simply play at living, but truly seize the moment and live in it, relish it. For a man that had lived millennia, that may live millennia more, that she was able to make the world new for him, even if it was for only a moment, was a gift beyond anything he could ever bestow upon her.

A fresh wave of nausea caused Alexa to grimace. Once again the realization that none of this really mattered to her. Not the food, not the music… Not even these strange people that had taken her and the others in. Not even their strange and so enticing belief system, this Way of the Leaf.

None of it.

She had a week supply of her medications, most of them, but once they were gone her life could be measured in the ticks of the hour. In a way she was oddly content, knowing the end was finally here and there wasn't a damn thing that could be done to stop it.

"I was just starting to enjoy my life," she muttered in a melancholy tone, "finally had a reason to think about a future." She gave a sardonic laugh and jabbed at the fire again. She knew it would probably be better if she kept silent, but she wasn't in the mood for silence. "Adam is going to tear Chairo apart looking for me. It's gonna crush him when he can't find me." She tossed her stick into the fire. Her gaze drifted back to his ring.

Max reached out and gave her forearm a strong, reassuring squeeze. "You have to believe you're going to get back."

There was such a sureness in his words that she could almost believe him. Almost. "Do you believe?" She asked pulling her arm away from his touch. "Truly believe you're going to get back to whoever it was that managed to put that gold band on your finger?"

His gaze drifted past her shoulder, south and east. "Liz is here," he said softly and nodded in the direction he was looking. "Somewhere that direction."

Alexa frowned. That hadn't been the sort of answer she was expecting. "How could you…?" Her voice dipped low. "Is it one of those alien things?"

He grimaced and for a moment wished he had kept that information to himself. "Yeah," he finally said, "it's something like that."

A thin smile crept across her lips. "I hate you," she told him only half joking. Exhaling she figured it was time to change the subject, only there wasn't a lot of things she felt comfortable talking about.

She glanced up as she felt Raen settle next to their humble little fire and saved them from any sort of prolonged silence. "That ipod," the word sounded odd coming off his tongue, "it is a wonder no one has ever seen before. It plays music none has ever heard. Hundreds of songs." Alexa and Max shared a smile and Alexa could only imagine if a chocoholic had been given the keys to the Hershey plant in Pennsylvania, they would probably sound a lot like Raen at this moment.

"Are any of them the song you're looking for?"

Raen shook his head at Max's question. "We've only listened to a few, and one…" A bemused chuckle accompanied another shake of his head. "…I do not believe we would ever be capable of producing such music."

"I'd be surprised if your people couldn't make it work somehow Raen. What they've done so far is nothing short of amazing."

Raen accepted Max's praise with a friendly smile. "Hundreds of songs," Raen enthused sounding positively giddy. "Have you seen Max juggle? She is very good, as good as any Gleeman I think and she told the children a story no one has ever heard before. About the Grinch who stole Christmas. I must say I am very intrigued by this Christmas, a day of goodwill and cheer on which people give presents to one another." He inhaled deeply and reigned himself in a little. "I have a feeling this is going to be a very good year. Come, Ila has supper ready."

* * *

AN: This ends the prologue. Next up, a week at most will be the first chapter: A Hard Day's Night. Second chapter to follow soon after. That one will deal mostly with Buffy and her group along with a little bit of Faith.

AN: Sorry about the delay in Minutes To Memories. I finished it some time ago, but my brother is being lazier then usual when it comes to typing anything up. He told me that he was going to be starting back up anytime. Take it for what you will. Hopefully he'll get something finished one of these days.

Hope you enjoy.

Kain


End file.
